


The Director of Project Freelancer is Dead

by directium



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Director Lives, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Suicide mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 102,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/directium/pseuds/directium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."</i>
</p>
<p>This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.</p>
<p>Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic would not exist without the help of awakeonprospit, who is an amazing roleplayer/Director/person in general. So she deserves many, many thanks for this idea, and the fic as a whole. <3

"This is a bad idea..." Epsilon hissed in Carolina's ear. "And by bad idea, I mean the worst idea ever."

"Well, things have changed," she said, her annoyance with the AI's constant whining clear in her tone as they continued on down the darkened hallway.

Epsilon let out an irritated huff. "I thought you were ALL EXCITED to fill him full of lead."

"Be QUIET, Epsilon," she said, as she pressed the barrel of her pistol further in the Director's back. "And you; keep walking."

As if Dr. Church had much of a choice in the matter. Of course, there was always the option to disobey Carolina's orders in the hopes that she would put him out of his misery. But he knew for a fact that if she did make the decision to shoot him, she would be sure that the shot was not fatal. Painful, perhaps, but definitely not fatal. If she had wanted to kill him, she wouldn't have forced him away from the room at all. If she had wanted him dead, she would have handed him her pistol on request so he could do the job himself.

So he kept walking. Further and further away from that dark room, as the sound of _her_ voice grew fainter behind them, and towards a lighter part of the facility, where the Reds and Blues had been chatting among themselves as they waited for Carolina and Epsilon to return.

_The Reds and Blues..._

Despite the fact that they had been hired under Project Freelancer, and despite everything that had happened with the Alpha, Dr. Church knew little about any of them. Of course he was aware of their names and ranks, but Agent Florida had been the one to handpick them for their duties at Blood Gulch and Price had been the one to engulf himself in employee research for the sake of psychoanalyzing possibilities, which left Dr. Church with little need to examine them further.

They were not Allison, so as far as he was concerned, they hadn't been worth much of his valuable time.

And yet he was now face-to-face with the group of colorful soldiers, all of whom fell silent at the sight of Dr. Church and Carolina approaching their group.

"Oh, you didn't—?" Tucker asked with a slight gesture of his hand. "You know..."

"No, and I'm not going to," Carolina said, as she lowered her weapon. "He's coming with us."

"What?!" Washington asked in disbelief. "The whole reason we came here in the first place was to kill him!"

"Yes, thank you, Wash!" Epsilon said gratefully.

Carolina shook her head. "Wash, listen, I know he's done terrible things—"

"'Terrible things?!'" Washington repeated, his tone impatient. "Carolina, you and I both know that is the understatement of the century! Or have you forgotten the fact that most of the other Freelancers are _dead_ because of him?"

"I _know_ ," she said with a sigh, "but we're not exactly moral, outstanding citizens either, are we?"

"Because of him!" Wash reminded her. "We're not moral, outstanding citizens because we were following _his_ orders!"

"You see?!" Epsilon said. "I told you this was a bad idea!"

"Look, I know it's not be the best idea," Carolina said, "or even _close_ to a good idea. But _look_ at him, Wash! Does it look like he has the ability to hurt anyone else?"

"Looks can be deceiving," Washington said bitterly.

"I don't know," Tucker added, his gaze on the Director. "Carolina does have a point. He just looks like a sad, old man."

"One who won't have any power over us if we take him with us," Carolina pointed out.

Washington stared at her. "Carolina..."

"If he starts giving us more trouble than he's worth, I give you permission to, as Epsilon suggested, 'fill him full of lead'," Carolina said. "But please, Wash, just trust me on this."

The facility was silent for a moment as Washington contemplated Carolina's idea. It was more than obvious that he had no trust for the asshole who once called himself the head of Project Freelancer, and no tolerance to put up with his bullshit any further. But he trusted Carolina, and she was right: this man, this broken excuse of a Director...

He no longer had power over them, and there was little he could do to harm anyone else. He was nothing now.

Finally, Washington spoke again: "Fine, Carolina. But he'd better listen and listen good." He aimed his gun at the older man. "Give us a _single_ reason to distrust you further, _one_ reason at all, and I will not hesitate to shoot you where you stand."

"I understand," Dr. Church said quietly, unable to look him in the eyes.

Wash lowered his gun. "Someone get him a suit of armor."

"Will one of the Texes work?" Tucker asked, as he nudged one of the lifeless suits of armor at their feet.

Dr. Church lifted his head. "The armor used for her _can_ serve as regular armor. You'll just need to—"

"Empty it?" Simmons had already opened up one of the Texes and had begun to remove the mechanical wiring inside. "I'm on it!"

"Ooh, ooh, dibs!" Caboose exclaimed, waving his hand around wildly. "I call dibs!"

"Dibs?" Grif sounded confused. "The fuck are you calling dibs on?"

"Dibs on New Church being on our team!" Caboose explained joyfully. "I called dibs first, so he is on our team! I win!"

"New Chur-Don't fucking call him that!" Epsilon demanded. "And what makes you think he'll be on either team?! I'd rather just dump his ass in the middle of Blood Gulch and let you guys use him for target practice!"

"Epsilon, that's enough," Carolina said. "We can decide where he's going to stay once we're out of here."

"Well, I already got one old Southern asshole barking orders at me, so our team doesn't need another," Grif said, which earned him a smack upside the head from Sarge's gun.

"Respect your elders, Grif!" Sarge ordered.

Grif let out a groan and rubbed the side of his helmet painfully. "On second thought, can the Blues take Sarge and we get the new guy?"

"We'll worry about where he goes later!" Wash said impatiently. "Just hurry up and finish emptying that armor, Simmons!"

As ordered, Simmons finished looting the armor and stood up again. "Okay, it's ready for use."

"Are you sure you don't want to lower the oxygen levels in the helmet?" Epsilon asked hopefully. "Maybe just a little bit?"

Carolina ignored him and picked up the helmet, which she immediately thrust into Dr. Church's hands. "Suit up. And make it quick."

Dr. Church stared down at the battered helmet, a few dents and miscellaneous scratches lined the right side where Caboose had sent the imperfect Tex flying into a wall.

_Imperfect..._

_They had all been imperfect._

His thumbs gently traced over the dents as things began to dawn on him. No matter how hard he tried, she would never be the Allison he remembered. And even if he stayed here and tried again, the result would always end the same.

He was a fool for thinking he could ever bring her back. A fool and a failure.

"Well?"

Carolina's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He sighed and slipped the helmet over his head, before he donned the rest of the armor and followed the group towards the facility exit with a heavy heart.

\------------------

"Hey, are you still alive in there, old man?" Tucker asked, as he knelt down to meet the ex-Director's gaze.

Dr. Church lifted his head so he was eye-to-eye with the man before him. "...Yes, I'm alive."

"You sound unhappy."

"I'm unhappy about a lot of things."

"So I've heard." He seated himself on the bench next to Dr. Church. "Man, I am SO ready to get off this ship! None of the girls here are interested in getting a piece of all of _this_!"

Dr. Church shook his head irritably as Tucker gestured widely to himself. He had heard several related comments from Tucker when the group had been questioned by the authorities about how they had 'taken out the Director', and had found each one more annoying and perverse than the last.

"I guess it's better than Blood Gulch," Tucker continued. "The only girls there were Grif's sister and Teeeehhhhh—" 

His voice trailed off as Dr. Church slowly turned his head towards him, in a motion that indicated there would be dire consequences if Tucker finished that sentence. "—no one. No one at all. Only Grif's sister."

"...Please stop talkin'."

Tucker shrank a bit. "Sorry. I forgot for a second that...yeah."

Dr. Church sighed heavily, and cradled his head in his hands. "I don't suppose you have an aspirin on you, do you?"

"Sorry, you're outta luck there," Tucker informed him. "Blue Team hasn't had aspirin in our possession since Captain Flowers' death. Did you know he was allergic to it?"

"Of course I knew," Dr. Church said. "He worked for me for a long time, why wouldn't I know what his allergies were?"

"Church didn't know," Tucker pointed out.

Dr. Church grew tense. "Well, that is surprisin'. Then again, his memories of bein' the Alpha were...removed, so it would make sense that he'd forget certain facts about my employees."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that," Tucker said. "Church was based off you right?"

"Yes, that's how AIs work," Dr. Church said. "They're usually based off the mind of an actual human bein', and the Alpha's personality was based off my own."

"Dude, no offense, but if Church is based off you, then you're kind of an asshole."

Dr. Church glared at him. "...Private Tucker, unless you came in here for a specific and urgent reason, and I highly doubt that, you have ten seconds to leave me alone before I do somethin' I regret."

Tucker raised his hands defensively and stood up straight again. "Alright, alright, I get the picture. I just remembered that I haven't flirted with the pilot yet, anyway. Maybe she'll want a piece of me."

"Yes, well, have fun with that."

Dr. Church's sarcasm was lost on Tucker, who had already made his way to the mechanical door. It rose upwards and lowered again after Tucker had made his exit, leaving Dr. Church alone once again with nothing but his thoughts. With a sigh, he laid back on the bench as best he could in armor and let his gaze travel to the ceiling.

Despite his unhappiness about the current situation, he did appreciate the lack of noise other than the slight hum of the ship's engines. It had been ages since he'd been surrounded by nothing but _quiet_. No Price to analyze what he already knew about himself, no FILSS responding to his orders, no video of his dearly beloved...

Dr. Church closed his eyes, and attempted to ignore the painful ache that had begun to spread throughout his body at the thought of Allison's video. When Carolina had forced him away from the room where he had been situated, she had made him leave the video behind with FILSS. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was without the one thing that had controlled the majority of his actions for years.

" _RED ALERT! RED ALERT! CRASH IS IMMINENT!_ "

Dr. Church's train of thought was broken by the automatic voice of the ship's AI and the deafening sound of the emergency alarm that followed. He sat upright and jumped to his feet as the gentle sounds of the engine were replaced with loud rattling and the sounds of panicked screaming outside the room. He attempted to make his way to the door but the shaking beneath his feet caused him to collapse to the floor. He could feel his heart pounding wildly as the turbulence grew more violent and the screams more panicked.

Until all was cut off by the sickening sound of metal breaking apart on impact.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of talking in this chapter, and lots of the Director getting acquainted with the Blues. And lots of (rightfully) angry Agent Washington.

It was a miracle that Dr. Church was still alive after such a crash.

He had survived one crash prior to this, but without the luxury of armor to cushion the impact. The ship had also remained in one piece, thanks to the soft snow beneath Mother of Invention and the fallout that had taken place within the project itself had been far worse than any damage that the ship had endured.

This time was different.

The combination of his armor and being in a location far from the source of the explosion that had brought down the ship had not only kept Dr. Church alive, but had prevented him from suffering any major injuries. The debris that covered his body was light and easy to push aside as he rose to his feet and looked around.

He was now located in a canyon, littered with ship pieces of varying shapes and sizes. And sadly, as Dr. Church realized once he stepped further into the canyon, that was not the only thing that littered the area. Various suits of armor that Dr. Church recognized as the ship's crew were sprawled here and there, all sadly lifeless and still.

As lifeless as those who had lost their lives in Project Freelancer. As still as Agents North and South, or CT, or Wyoming, or-

He shook his head as he trudged on through the wreckage. Why would he be thinking of that now, of all times? What had happened during the events of Project Freelancer was tragic, but the soldiers had all known that they were getting into a dangerous line of work when they were first given the opportunity to join the project. They knew that their lives would be put on the line with every mission, every assignment...

He froze in place with a heavy sigh. As if he could really convince himself that their deaths hadn't been a result of his own actions, direct or otherwise. Every single casualty had been a result of his own actions, and no amount of lying to himself could change that fact. He had doomed them all in an attempt to reach an impossible goal.

And yet, after everything that had happened, he was still alive. After pushing himself to the brink of death only to be forced away at the last possible moment, after a ship wreck, after _everything_ , he was still here while the majority of the Freelancers were as dead as the shipmates that now lay among the rubble at his feet.

He continued on until he finally stepped out of the wreckage and into the part of the canyon that had remained untouched by the crash, before he finally came to a stop again near one of the sides of the canyon. He leaned against the hard, rocky wall behind him and let himself slide to the ground as guilt, guilt that he had desperately tried to cover with his own assumptions that he had been doing the right thing, began to rear its ugly head for the first time in a long time.

"Mr. Not-Church-Church!"

Apparently someone else _had_ survived the crash. Dr. Church looked towards the source of the voice and saw, to his surprise, Caboose and Tucker approaching him. Caboose was waving his hand around in an excited fashion, while Tucker's body language seemed more casual and relieved.

"Hey, didn't expect to see you still alive," Tucker said, once he and Caboose got closer.

"Didn't expect it either, if I must be honest," Dr. Church said.

Caboose clapped his hands together. "We are very happy to see you, Mr. Not-Church Church!"

"It's Dr. Church," Dr. Church said.

"Ah, yes," Caboose said matter-of-factly. "Dr. Not-Church Church."

"Ignore him," Tucker said, and helped him to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"Well, I've certainly been better," Dr. Church said. "And I'm startin' to lament your team's policy regardin' aspirin."

"Yeah, you and me both, dude," Tucker said, with a look at the wreckage that surrounded them. "This is all kinds of messed up."

Caboose turned back towards the opposite end of the canyon. "Hey, Agent Washington! We found Dr. Not-Church Church!"

It was then that Dr. Church noticed a familiar suit of blue-and-yellow armor just a short distance behind Tucker and Caboose. And a suit of armor couldn't hide the sudden stiffness in Washington's posture as he noticed Dr. Church among the Blues. "Oh, great. _You_ survived..."

"Nice to see you too, David," Dr. Church said.

"That's Agent Washington to you," Washington ordered, his arms crossed fiercely.

"Considerin' you're no longer an agent of Project Freelancer, I feel like it would be highly inappropriate to refer to you as such," Dr. Church pointed out.

"Well, considering you've done nothing to help anyone, I feel like it's inappropriate to call you a doctor," Washington replied smugly. "Don't you think?"

"Uh, he would like to be called Dr. Not-Church Church," Caboose pointed out. "Full names are very important."

"As rivetin' as this discussion is," Dr. Church said, "I think we should spend less time arguin' about names and more time lookin' for survivors."

"Not that it's any of your business, but that's what we've been doing," Washington said. "Red Team's situated in a base on the other side of the canyon and right now, we're looking for Carolina and Epsilon."

"Oh, is that what we're doing?" Caboose asked. "I saw them!"

"What? You did?" Washington asked. "Caboose, where are they?"

There was a small moment of silence before Caboose finally responded. "Oh, uh...they're gone."

"Gone?" Washington repeated. "What do you mean gone?"

"They left," Caboose explained. "But they'll be back. Church always comes back!"

"Caboose," Dr. Church said slowly. "Do you know where they went?"

"Ah, no, I do not know," Caboose said. "They didn't really say goodbye. I just saw them on the cliff over there and then they were gone. They're probably off doing something really important, though! Or else they would have said goodbye first!"

"So...they just left us?" Tucker asked in disbelief.

"Uh-huh!" Caboose said proudly.

Washington sighed heavily. "Well, great... at the very least, they're alive. I guess all _we_ can do right now is stay here and search for any supplies that might have survived the crash. If we're lucky, the authorities have already gotten wind of the crash and are planning a search-and-rescue as we speak. And if we're not...well, all the more reason to look for supplies."

"What about Dr. Not-Church-Church?" Caboose asked.

Washington glared at Dr. Church. "I guess he'll stay with us, for the time being."

Caboose gasped joyfully. "Yes, my dibs worked! He _is_ on Blue Team!"

"I guess he is, Caboose," Washington said bitterly.

Caboose bounced in place for a moment before he turned on his heels and hurried towards the wreckage of the ship that lay at their backs. "I shall go make us all friendship bracelets! Except for Tucker."

"Wow, alright, fuck you too, dude!"

Tucker hurried after his teammate in an irritated fashion, and Dr. Church decided to follow in the hopes that Agent Washington would not instigate another argument with him. However, Washington seemed to possess the ability to read minds, and his arm blocked Dr. Church's path before he could go too far.

"Do you remember what I told you back at the facility?"

"That you will kill me if I prove to be distrustful."

"That's right." Washington's arm lowered. "With Carolina and Epsilon gone, it looks like I'm in charge of Blue Team. Meaning that rule is in full effect, starting now."

"I'm not going to hurt them, if that's what you're worried about," Dr. Church said.

"Yeah, why do I have a hard time believing that?" Washington asked sarcastically, with a poke to Dr. Church's chest place. "Anyway, unless you want to bleed out slowly, you're to do exactly what I say. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, David, I understand," Dr. Church said.

"And yet you completely ignore the fact that I asked you to call me Agent Washington. That definitely tells me you understand." Washington's voice was thick with malice and bitterness. "You know what? I think that little remark of yours deserves a proper punishment."

"Excuse me?"

"From this point on, I think you should start calling me 'sir' instead."

"You can't be serious..."

"Oh, I'm deadly serious." Washington's malice had been replaced with overwhelming smugness. "If you're going to be a part of Blue Team, that technically makes you the rookie. And since leader is clearly miles above rookie, I think you should show me some respect."

"Agent Washington—"

"Is that going to be a problem, _rookie_?"

Dr. Church clenched his fists tightly. He was not surprised to see Agent Washington acting so hostile towards him, but he'd be lying if he said that the Freelancer's attitude didn't seriously push his buttons. He was already dealing with the guilt of the things he'd done, and he didn't need Agent Washington to poke and prod him further. But Dr. Church knew that arguing with him would only make matters worse, and his headache was already bad enough.

"No, _sir_ , it's not goin' to be a problem," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Good to hear it!" Washington said cheerfully, as he stepped aside. "Now, return to the ship and wait with the team while I start taking inventory of the supplies that survived the crash."

"Yes, sir..."

With a heavy sigh, Dr. Church trudged towards the ship in the direction that his new teammates had gone, with the hopes that by some miracle, Washington found aspirin among the medical supplies. If he was going to be part of the Blue Team, and if Washington was leader, he was going to put one of their old traditions to rest.

\-------------------

"-and then Church died, but it wasn't my fault!" Caboose held up his hands defensively. "It was Sheila's fault, but that is okay because she didn't know any better."

Dr. Church looked at Tucker. "How much of his story is made up?"

"Actually, most of it's true," Tucker admitted. "But it totally was his fault."

"It was _not_ my fault!" Caboose protested.

"It was absolutely your fault!" Tucker said. "You're the only one who knew how to drive the tank!"

Dr. Church looked at him. "He's the only one who can drive a tank?"

"Well, he _was_ ," Tucker said. "And he couldn't drive it _well_."

"I see," Dr. Church said softly. "So, he destroyed the Alpha's original body?"

"If I was the one who killed Church, and I was NOT the one who did that," Caboose said. "I would say that, ahhh, after he died, he became a ghost! And a robot, and a floating eyeball who could shoot lasers..."

Dr. Church said nothing, and simply glanced at Tucker for an explanation. "Again, he's kind of right. But also not. It'd take a while to explain," Tucker said.

"Maybe it'll take ten movies?" Caboose suggested. "With informative PSAs?"

Dr. Church sighed. "Is there a way to get him to stop?"

"Yeah, if you figure _that_ out, please tell me," Tucker said, tapping the side of his helmet. "He started out kinda okay, but I think he's taken too many bumps to the head. And then there was that whole thing with O'Malley, and Church and Tex trying to get him out of Caboose's head—"

Dr. Church froze for a moment. "Hold on, please explain that story to me."

"Which one?"

"The one where he had THREE AIs in his head at one time!" Dr. Church said in disbelief. "Havin’ two implanted in your head is dangerous enough, but three?! How on Earth is he still alive?"

"We thought Tex and Church were ghosts at the time," Tucker said.

"That doesn't answer my question," Dr. Church said. "How did he survive three AIs in his head at the same time, especially if one of them was Omega—er, _O'Malley._ "

"He was not a nice man!" Caboose said, his arms crossed. "He kept telling me to do bad things."

Dr. Church shook his head. "Well, Omega WAS the embodiment of the Alpha’s anger and rage. It's not surprisin' to hear that his actions were less than kind."

"Like AI, like creator."

Agent Washington’s voice interrupted their conversation and the group turned to face him as he stepped inside the ship. "So I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, a lot of the supplies survived the crash. But we’ll have to keep our food supply out of Red Team’s possession, or else we’ll run out within minutes."

"Grif?" Tucker guessed.

"Grif," Washington confirmed.

“And the bad news?” Dr. Church asked.

"Well, the communications tower is busted, and it’ll take quite some time to fix," Washington said, his arms crossed. "So, we could be here a while if the UNSC hasn't already gotten wind of our situation."

Dr. Church rose to his feet. "You know, I could help with repairs if you require assistance."

"Thanks, but I don’t need any help from you," Agent Washington said fiercely. "But if I need to commit crimes against nature and science in the near future, I'll be sure to let you know."

Dr. Church clenched his fists again as he fought the urge to punch Washington in the jaw. But he knew that was a terrible idea for many reasons, other than the fact that they were wearing armor. "I’m sorry, sir. I was just tryin’ to help."

"Well, no one here needs your help, so don’t bother offering."

Washington stormed past him, leaving the team in an uncomfortable silence while Dr. Church continued to stand in place, fists clenched so tight his fingers were beginning to ache.

"Now, HE would have made an angry AI," Tucker said.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS of talking in this one. And we’re starting to jump right into the season 11 setting, so things will probably be more familiar. But I’m going to try and not stick to the season word-for-word (for the most part), because where’s the fun in that?

-Clink-

"You missed."

-Clink-

"You missed again."

Dr. Church huffed and lowered the barrel of his sniper rifle. "I am fully aware of when I miss, Private Tucker. I do not need your commentary."

"Alright, sorry!" Tucker took a step back from Dr. Church, and watched as he failed to hit another target. "Hey, on a completely unrelated topic, are you the reason Church can’t aim for shit?"

"...Remind me again why you are here."

"Wash's orders," Tucker explained. "You're not allowed to be by yourself, especially if you have a gun."

"I have no plants to shoot anyone here, if that's his concern," Dr. Church said.

"Well, uh..." Tucker rubbed his arm, his voice suddenly serious. "It's not _us_ he's worried about..."

"...I see." Dr. Church lowered his weapon again. "Well, at least he cares that much about me. And in any case, I think I'm finished with target practice for now."

"Fine with me." Tucker seated himself on the nearest rock, his chin cradled in one hand. "Watching you practice is boring, anyway."

"Well, then maybe you should pick up a gun and practice with him, Private Tucker."

Both looked behind them at the sound of Agent Washington's voice and noticed the Freelancer observing them from a short distance, his arms folded neatly across his chest. "I don't remember telling either of you to take a break from your training."

"Yeah, and I don't remember you being such a massive pain-in-the-ass," Tucker said. "Oh, wait, yeah I do."

"Oh, that's funny, Tucker," Washington said sarcastically as he approached them. "Maybe you two should spend a little less time joking around, and a little more time taking my orders seriously."

"Hey, I'm watching him, aren't I?" Tucker asked, flicking his thumb towards Dr. Church.

And I _have_ been followin' your orders to improve my aim, _sir_ ," Dr. Church added irritably.

"Well, judging by your performance, rookie, you clearly haven't done enough of that," Washington said. “You don't stop training until I say so.”

"With all due respect, _sir_ , I am getting a headache from this," Dr. Church said. "I don’t wear glasses for nothin’."

"Yeah, come on, Wash," Tucker added. "Let us take a break."

Washington was silent for a moment. "Fine, you may take a short, and I mean _short_ , break. In the meantime, I need to go and retrieve our tank from the Reds."

"Why do the Reds have our tank?" Dr. Church asked, his irritation momentarily replaced by confusion.

"Probably because SOMEONE left Caboose alone with it," Washington said, with a glare at Dr. Church

"Why are you lookin' at me?" Dr. Church asked defensively. "I certainly didn't do it!"

"Yes, but since Tucker was here watching YOU, there was no one to keep an eye on Caboose." Washington poked his chest plate for emphasis. "Therefore, YOUR fault."

"That accusation is completely unfair, Agent Wa— I mean, sir!" Dr. Church said, dumbfounded.

"Yeah, Wash, I have to agree, that's kind of unfair," Tucker added. "It's not like he chose to be here..."

"Well, regardless, I need to go get the tank from the Reds," Washington said. "Keep an eye on him, Tucker."

"So, keep doing what I was doing before?" Tucker asked.

"Please do."

"Whatever."

Washington turned and headed towards the Reds' side of the canyon, leaving Tucker and Dr. Church alone again. With a sigh, Tucker laid back on the rock he was seated upon. "Guess it's break time."

"I have no complaints there." Dr. Church gently propped the gun against the side of the rock and took a seat besides Tucker.

"I still don't know why Wash is making us train in the first place," Tucker said. "We've only been here a couple of days and nothing's attacked us!"

"Well, we have no idea where we are and our communications tower is still broken, so I suppose he wants us to be prepared in case the need to defend ourselves asides," Dr. Church said, arms crossed. "Although I could fix the tower if he gave me the option, which would make all this extra trainin' rather pointless."

"Ooh, _someone's_ bitter," Tucker said playfully.

"Hush," Dr. Church said sternly.

"Dude, chill, I’m just teasing you," Tucker said, amused. "God, you've got a real stick up your ass, don't you?"

"...I am not goin' to answer that."

Tucker laughed. "Ha, that's not a no!"

Dr. Church shook his head. "Private Tucker, must you turn everythin' into a joke?"

"You can drop the 'private'," Tucker said. "Tucker's fine."

"Very well, _Tucker,_ " Dr. Church said, "must you turn everything I say into a joke?"

"Hey, I did it with Church," Tucker pointed out.

The guilt that Dr. Church had felt when Project Freelancer had pushed its way to the front of his mind was back at the mention of the Alpha. These...these soldiers. Caboose, Tucker, they had been Alpha's teammates. His friends. Not just _his_ friends, but Epsilon's friends as well.

Before Dr. Church's thoughts could wander further, the tank rolled into view and stopped a few feet away from the soldiers, with Caboose at the side of the vehicle.

"We are back!" Caboose informed them cheerfully.

"Yeah, Caboose, we can see that," Tucker said, as Washington climbed out. “That was fast, Wash!”

"I know how to negotiate quickly," Washington explained. "And since you’re all here, I feel like a team meeting is on order. All of you, line up. That means you too, rookie."

Dr. Church bit his lip in an attempt to hold back his comment about where Washington could stick his 'rookie' comment as he moved to stand alongside the other Blues.

Washington began to pace in front of them as if he were their Sargent. "Now, as you all know, we need to be mindful of the supplies we have until we’re rescued—"

"Yeah, yeah, Wash, we know!" Tucker sounded annoyed. "You’ve given us this speech before. 'Ration our food, maintain our equipment...'"

"Brush your teeth, don’t talk to strangers...'" Caboose rambled. "Try not to shoot anyone while they’re trying to brush their teeth..."

"'Always report in to Agent Washington?'" Dr. Church finished crossly.

"That’s right, rookie," Washington said with a gesture towards the base. "That chart in the base exists for a reason!"

"You mean the one you edited, sir?" Dr. Church crossed his arms. "The one where you gave me a less-than-flatterin' nickname?"

"Did you see any other charts in the base?" Washington asked.

"Hey, we never had to worry about charts when Church was around," Tucker said. "He just kinda shouted orders and we'd get around to them. Eventually. Probably."

"He was such an inspiration to us all!" Caboose wailed sadly.

"Well, considering Church and Carolina decided to run off without so much as a goodbye, and didn't even have the decency to take _you_ —" Once again, the tip of Washington's finger met Dr. Church chest plate. "—along with them, it's up to me to keep everyone in line."

"It's not like I asked to be here, sir," Dr. Church said, unable to mask the bitterness in his voice.

"That is true, rookie." Washington turned back to the rest of the group. "Now, I know there's been some complaints about the amount of training I've been putting you all through. And I realize that none of you have had any proper training when it comes to combat, whether it be because your previous leaders didn't provide you with the proper training, or because you're used to making other soldiers fight your battles for you—"

Dr. Church let out an annoyed huff, as Washington continued: "—but whatever the reason, we're all stranded in an unknown location with little to no information about the surrounding area. Meaning we have no idea if anything out there wants to kill us. So unless you want to just sit back and relax and take the slim risk that the surrounding wildlife is friendly and won't kill you as soon as it sees you, you'll need to train and train _hard_. Is that understood, privates?”

Their responses were scattered and halfhearted.

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes, sir," they said loudly in exasperated unison.

"That’s better." He cocked his gun. “Now, I think it's time to start the physical part of your training. Starting with a few laps around the canyon."

"No way in Hel—JESUS!" Dr. Church was silenced by a bullet whizzing past his foot, mere inches from piercing his armor.

"I’m sorry, rookie, is that going to be a problem?"

"...No, _sir_." The old man’s teeth were probably flat at this point, from how hard he had been grinding them out of sheer anger.

"Get running. Five laps to start."

\--------------

Dr. Church couldn't remember a time where he felt so tired. Not even on his worst work days, or even during his lowest depression spells, had he ever felt this close to death. He had only removed his armor halfway before he let his body sink into the mattress he had claimed, his face half buried in a pillow.

"Fucking Wash..." Tucker grumbled, as he chucked his helmet at the nearest wall upon entering the room. "What the hell is he thinking, making us do all those exercises?! At this rate, we'll be too damn tired to fight anything that tries to attack us!"

Dr. Church lifted his head slightly. "You know, I'm surprised to hear you express such disdain for Washington's methods. I'd think the two of you would be used to exercises like this."

"Like hell we are." Tucker collapsed against one of the free mattresses. "Church never made us run laps or exercise, or do any of this shit."

"He was the best friend a guy could have!" Caboose sniffled as he sat down on his own bed. "Aww, I just miss him so much!"

Tucker settled himself down on his bed, lying on his stomach with his arms crossed in front of him. "Yeah, Church might have been a dick, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the guy, too. Kinda, sorta."

It was like he had been given two puppies who had been abandoned by their owner, Dr. Church thought. Two very annoying puppies. Either that or it was like he had been reunited with the trio of Freelancers that had been ranked the lowest in the program. Caboose and Agent Iowa were practically one in the same and Dr. Church had a feeling that Tucker and Agent Idaho would have been friends.

The guilty feeling he had felt before began to surface again at the thought of the Triplets, and he shook his head in an attempt to push away such thoughts. "Alpha must have meant a lot to you two, huh?" he asked.

"No shit, Sherlock. Weren’t you listening?" Tucker asked.

"Every year, I would throw him a surprise birthday party," Caboose said dreamily. "He would always say 'Oh, Caboose, you shouldn’t have!'"

"Yeah, and then he’d say, 'Because it’s not my birthday, dumbass,'" Tucker said, shaking his head.

"That’s what made it a surprise!"

Dr. Church set his glasses down on the nightstand by his bed, and reached up to rub his forehead. "Not to mention, he was an AI and did not technically possess a day of birth. Therefore a birthday party would be rather pointless."

Caboose looked thoughtful for a moment, before his face lit up with realization. "But YOU do!"

"I do what?"

"Possess the day with the birthing."

Dr. Church squinted at him. "Yes, Caboose, I do have a birthday. As does every other livin’ creature. But I would appreciate it if you didn’t attempt to throw me a surprise party."

"Aww, but I must throw a surprise party for my best friends!" Caboose insisted. "I was even going to throw you one when we found you, but she said it wasn't that kind of surprise..."

"You didn’t throw a party for me on MY birthday," Tucker pointed out. "Not that I want one. Or that we’re friends."

Dr. Church rolled over to face the wall, while his subordinates continued to speak. He squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to drown out their voices ("Well, I can’t throw it on your birthday, because it’s not a SURPRISE then!"). He knew Wash had another day of hell planned for them tomorrow, and he wanted to at least attempt to get a good night’s sleep before that happened.


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What else can I say other than ‘more talking’ and ‘more (rightfully) angry Washington’? Other than the Reds will make an appearance in the next chapter, so good news to the Red Team fans!

It felt like many weeks had passed since they crash landed, though in reality, it had only been about two. 

And yet, two weeks with the Blue Team had put Dr. Church’s level of patience at an all-time low.

On top of Washington constantly berating him, forcing him to run laps around the canyon, and refusing to let him help fix the communications tower, Dr. Church also had to deal with Tucker and Caboose. And while the boys were never cruel to him, (he had a feeling this was either out of pity, or due to their past relationships with the Alpha) they could certainly find ways to drain his mental energy. Whether it was with their...unique personalities or with a barrage of stories regarding their previous adventures.

And speaking of draining his mental energy...

"I am NOT doin' pushups!"

Washington folded his arms. "Rookie, as your leader, I order you to—"

"Sir, I have not been able to do a pushup since I was thirty-five," Dr. Church said. "And if I go down, I’m not goin' to be able to get up again."

"Bow-chicka-bow-wo—"

" _Not now, Tucker!_ "

"Are you disobeying a direct order, rookie?" Washington asked.

"For the sake of my own health, yes!" Dr. Church would obey every order the Freelancer gave him, but this was beyond ridiculous.

"I have an idea." Tucker pulled himself to his feet. "How about no push-ups for anyone? How about we just not exercise? That's a thing we can do."

"Get back down on the ground, Private Tucker!" Washington ordered. "And as for you, old man, if you're not going to do any exercises, then I have another task you can help me with."

"Oh, and what would that be, sir?" Dr. Church asked, arms folded.

"It’s Caboose."

"Did he get his head stuck in somethin' again?"

"No, he's..." Washington paused, as he attempted to find the right words. "...having an off day."

"Define 'off day'," Dr. Church said.

Washington sighed and gestured for the older man to follow. "You keep exercising, Private Tucker."

Tucker grumbled and muttered curses under his breath as he continue his pushups, while Dr. Church followed Washington into the ship’s wreckage. The empty hallways were eerily quiet, save for one noise that was coming from the area that the Blues had assigned as their barracks:

"Sigh. Groan. Oh, woe is me. Ahhh, I don’t know what that means..."

As Dr. Church entered the room behind Washington, he could see Caboose in the corner. His shoulders were low and his attention was on the mirror in front of him.

"Hey, Caboose, how’re you doing?" Washington asked, as they approached him.

"Well, you know...I just miss Church a whole lot." He sounded so monotone, yet so heartbroken at the same time.

He was upset about the Alpha AGAIN? Dr. Church was still unable to believe that the departure of his AI could have caused such heartache among his teammates. Not that he didn’t think Alpha or Epsilon could have influenced the simulation troopers, but he just never expected it to this extent.

Then again, who was he to judge, with his own history and methods of lamenting the loss of someone so near and dear to his own heart?

"I know you miss him, Caboose." Washington gently patted the back of Caboose’s armor. "He was your leader for a really long time, and it’s not surprising that you would grow so attached to him."

"I am just so lost without him..." Caboose raised his head to look at his reflection in the mirror again. "I...I don't even recognize my own face!"

"Well, that's because you don't have your old helmet," Washington pointed out. "Also, your helmet is not the same thing as your face."

Washington cast Dr. Church a glance as he continued his attempt to comfort Caboose. Dr. Church had a feeling that Washington wanted him to assist in helping Caboose, but he wasn't exactly sure what Washington expected of him. The Freelancer knew better than anyone that he wasn’t the best person to turn to when it came to coping with the loss of a loved one.

"Say, rookie, perhaps you should talk Caboose on a walk?" Washington said. "You know, to _cheer him up?_ "

_Oh._

"I...yes, I think that's a good idea," Dr. Church said weakly.

"Really?" Caboose's sad tone had faded for a moment. "We can go on a walk?"

Dr. Church awkwardly held out his hand for Caboose to take. "Yeah, uh, come on, Caboose."

Caboose grabbed his hand, his grip nearly crushing Dr. Church's fingers as he pulled him away from Agent Washington. "I have so much to tell you about Church!"

"Caboose, you’ve already told me—"

“So much!”

Dr. Church heard Washington chuckle as Caboose pulled him towards the door.

\--------------

"...And then every year, for Valentine’s Day, Church would give me a heart!"

"Yes, I KNOW, Caboose," Dr. Church said. "You've told me everythin' about the Alpha several times over."

"Yeahhhh, isn't Church the best?" Caboose said fondly. "You can just talk and talk and talk about him! Ooh, did I tell you about when he was a floating eyeball? He could shoot lasers!"

Dr. Church groaned and sat down on the nearest piece of ship rubble (surprisingly useful as a bench) and pulled his helmet off for a moment, a relief from the headache that Caboose had brought on with his endless stories.

"Um, I have a question, Dr. Not-Church Church." Caboose had seated himself beside Dr. Church.

Dr. Church sighed. "What is your question, Caboose?"

"Are you Church’s dad?"

Dr. Church looked at him, his expression perplexed. "Excuse me?"

"Are you Church's dad?"

It was asked so innocently, and Dr. Church was positive he could see two big, puppy dog eyes blinking curiously behind Caboose's visor as he waited for an answer. "What makes you ask that, Caboose?"

"Well, ah, see, you made Church," Caboose said. "And he has the same name as you. So...wouldn't that make you Church's dad?"

Dr. Church exhaled slowly through his nose as he attempted to piece his thoughts together in a manner that Caboose would understand. "Well, Caboose, you are right about the fact that I created the Alpha-er, _Church_. However, I feel that not only would it be inaccurate to label myself as his father, it would also be highly inappropriate. Not to mention, I'm sure Church would not be happy if I even _thought_ about suggestin' such a thing."

"...Is that a yes?"

Dr. Church sighed again, as his gaze drifted back to the ship while the regret of disobeying Washington's pushup orders began to bubble up inside him. However, before he could properly lament those thoughts, he spotted Agent Washington exiting the ship and begin to make his way towards the communications tower.

Dr. Church narrowed his eyes at the sight of the communications tower. He knew his way about that sort of machinery and technology. He would likely be able to figure out the problem a lot faster than if Washington worked on it alone. Washington had said that he didn't need help, but Dr. Church knew that he wanted to get out of this canyon as quickly as possible.

"Listen, Caboose, you seem to be feelin' better," he said, as he slipped his helmet back into place. "Would you mind terribly if I went to assist Agent Washington with the repairs to the communications tower?"

"Oh, okay, that sounds good!" Caboose said. "I'll just continue our walk by myself."

Dr. Church nodded. "Good, you do that."

Caboose hurried off in the opposite direction while Dr. Church headed towards the communications tower, where the remaining two soldiers of Blue Team was gathered. 

"Look, all I'm saying is we should have been rescued by now," he could hear Tucker saying as Wash worked. "I mean, we were on a fucking spaceship full of weapons and shit. Surely SOMEONE must have noticed we were missing by now!"

"It WAS a pretty important ship..." Wash said, his head jerking up as Dr. Church approached them. "No, you can't help, so don't even ask."

Dr. Church sighed irritably. "Sir, I could probably figure out the problem right away—"

"I have given you my answer several times," Washington said firmly. "In fact, I thought I told you to accompany Caboose on a walk. That's _two_ orders of mine you're currently disobeying. Three if we throw those pushups you were supposed to do into the mix."

"I did," Dr. Church said. "And I managed to lift his spirits, as you ordered."

"Well, regardless, my answer is still no," Washington said. "I can repair the tower by myself and I don’t need your 'help'."

"It would probably go faster if you had some help, Wash," Tucker pointed out. "Don't we want to get out of this canyon quicker?"

"Yes, Private Tucker, that is our goal," Washington said. "However, considering what happened the last time he tried to 'help' people... Well, I shouldn't have to explain further."

"Agent Washington, I am currently in the same situation as you are," Dr. Church reminded him. “I want to get OUT of this canyon just as much as you do. What motivation would I have behind doin’ anything that would compromise what you’re tryin’ to accomplish?”

Washington stopped working for a moment and turned to face Dr. Church as he continued: "If you want, I can simply observe and tell you where the trouble is comin' from while you continue to do the repairs. I won't touch anythin' unless you give me permission."

Washington sighed. "Well, I suppose the repairs WOULD go a lot faster if there were two of us working. Lord knows Tucker and Caboose won’t be much help."

"Wow, way to be a dick, Wash," Tucker said, arms crossed.

"I’m sorry, Tucker, did you have plans to help with repairs?" Agent Washington asked.

"...No."

"Then be quiet."

"Dick..."

"What can I do to help?" Dr. Church asked.

"You know what?" Wash looked towards the Reds' side of the canyon. "There _is_ something you can do for me. Can you go get my soldering iron from the Reds? I think they keep stealing my tools."

"And what makes you think that, if I may ask?"

Washington cleared his throat. "'Men, it appears our shitty fortifications aren't meeting my ridiculous standards!," he said, his impression of Sarge perfect. "'Let’s steal Washington's tank and fire it at our walls! That'll fix it!'"

The other two men were silent for a moment, before Tucker spoke: "Hey, that's not half bad, Wash."

"Yeah, I've had practice mocking annoying Southern accents in the past," Washington said, with a look towards Dr. Church.

"Yeah...I’m just goin’ to ignore that," Dr. Church said. "Solderin' iron, right?"

"Yes, and hurry back. I'd like to get these repairs done as soon as possible," Washington said. "Because Tucker's right about one thing: We should have been found by now."

Dr. Church nodded and began to hurry to the other side of the canyon before Tucker could respond, his curiosity regarding the number of times that Washington had mocked him in the past growing with every step.


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said Red Team was in this chapter, I was half right. It’s more ‘Grimmons while the Director watches: The Chapter”. So much Grif and Simmons. So if you like them, you’re in for a treat! Also there will be more Sarge next chapter, I promise.

Dr. Church hadn’t interacted much with the Reds since the crash.

With Washington constantly keeping a close eye on him, he hadn't gotten a moment to properly acquaint himself with the other team. Most of the information he had learned about them had been through his teammates’ stories, but even then they hadn’t gone too far into detail about any of them. Every so often, Tucker would bring up how in love Grif and Simmons were, or Caboose would tell him about the times he and Sarge went camping together, or how he and Donut had once dyed their hair to match each other's armor. And someone by the name of 'Lopez' would be brought up occasionally.

But despite all the stories, Dr. Church still knew very little about the Red Team.

So he would be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in conversing with them.

He crossed the canyon with ease, though he knew Agent Washington could still see him from the tower. Even when he was alone, he was under the former Freelancer’s watchful gaze. At least for the moment, he had no teammates to babysit him or talk his ear off, which was a plus.

"Look, all I’m saying is that all signs point to robot overlords!"

The sound of Grif's voice grew louder as Dr. Church approached the base, and he spotted both him and Simmons standing beside the entrance of the base. Somehow, the sight was unsurprising after Tucker's numerous stories.

Simmons crossed his arms. "I’m a cyborg, you wanna bow down to me?"

"Pass."

"Fuck you, meatsack," Simmons said, his voice monotone as if he were imitating a robot. "Your logic is flawed. Beep boop."

Grif shook his head. "You are the biggest fucking nerd..."

"All your base are belong to us," Simmons droned on. "You must construct additional pylons."

" _NERD._ "

"Am I interruptin' somethin'?" Dr. Church asked, as he came to a stop in front of them.

Both turned to face him. "Oh, hey, Church Senior," Grif said. "Can you answer something for us?"

"Only if you refer to me as Dr. Church."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Grif waved his hand as if he was brushing away Dr. Church's comment. "What’s your theory on robot domination? I’m trying to prove something to Simmons."

"Grif, movies and real life are not the same thing!" Simmons insisted. "Though in the case of Wall-E, you're pretty close to what the humans looked like near the second half."

Grif scoffed. "You love my body and you know it."

"Will you two keep it down?!" Sarge barked at them, with a threatening shake of his wrench in their direction. "I am tryin' to concentrate here!"

Southern accent. _Right._ "Agent Washington requested that I bring him his solderin' iron so he can continue repairin' the communications tower," Dr. Church explained, before any of the Reds could start talking again. "And he said that your team was likely in possession of it. If one of you could please fetch it for me, I would appreciate it."

Sarge looked towards him with a gesture to the incomplete robot at his side. "Well, now, if he’s lookin' for somethin' to help him with repairs, I've got just the thing he needs right here!"

"Oh, you've built a robot?" Dr. Church asked curiously.

"A robot? Heck, I've built enough robots to kill Grif, resurrect him, kill him again, bury the body, and then stomp on his grave," Sarge said proudly. "Sadly, none of them seemed to get the job done right. Darn shame."

"You've built, like...four," Grif pointed out. "Well, more or less. I don't know, I lost count after Lopez."

"Lopez was one of the first robots he built!" Simmons said. "How do you lose count after one?!"

"I'll tell you how, you stop caring and then stop counting."

Simmons shook his head in disbelief. "You're an idiot."

Dr. Church now understood Tucker’s comments about these two being in love. Not that he was judging them in the slightest. He had overheard his fair share of flirting amongst the Freelancers (Agent New York seemed to be the worst culprit in this department), and had even accidentally walked in on Agent Florida and Agent Wyoming locking lips more times than he could count. So this kind of flirting was a pleasant change of pace.

Though, there was a difference between not judging and not enjoying, and he certainly did not enjoy the constant displays of affection he had seen on the MOI. He had never been a _huge_ fan of public displays of affection, even before meeting Allis—

He felt a strong ache spreading throughout his chest and he forced himself to stop that thought before it continued. No, this was not the time nor the place to think about her, and doing so would send him spiraling down a bad path that he couldn’t afford to visit again. Especially not at a time like this.

He just needed to do what he was ordered to and return to the communication tower as quickly as possible. "Listen, I’m sure Agent Washington would appreciate your efforts, but I think I should just bring him what he wants."

Simmons sighed. "Come on, Grif and I will get you the soldering iron."

"Why do I have to go?" Grif asked. "It'll take you two seconds!"

"It's on YOUR side of the room!" He crossed his arms fiercely. "And I am NOT wading through YOUR mess."

"Ugh, fine, I’ll go."

Okay, so their flirting got old fast.

\-------------------

Dr. Church had never been more grateful that his helmet masked his sense of smell after he saw the inside of Red Base.

The base had been divided by a 'wall' of sandbags ("Hey, he wanted a wall and I gave him one!" had been Grif's excuse for them. "It's not a wall, it's a pile!" Simmons pointed out. “Well, he should know better than to tell me to build stuff!”) and while one side of the base looked like decent enough, the side that Grif and Simmons called home was another story. 

Simmons’s side of the room wasn't the problem, for the maroon soldier had done his damnedest to keep his area clean and immaculate, and his efforts showed. He had taken full advantage of the fact that their base was composed of broken ship parts and modified the bigger pieces into makeshift furniture. A bed, a desk, even a dresser despite the fact that they had little clothing. All of it looked like it had been mopped, swept, dusted, and cleaned in any possible way one could guess.

The problem was the garbage dump Grif called his side.

Piles of dirty clothes were scattered among food boxes and bags of chips, and Dr. Church noticed there was an unhealthy amount of empty Oreo packages around and on top of Grif's bed. He has to have some form of diabetes with eating habits like this, Dr. Church thought to himself. And if he didn't... how?!

Simmons didn’t appear any happier about the state of Grif’s living conditions. “I don’t understand how you can live in this pigsty. I’m pretty sure RATS couldn’t live in this!”

"One man's trash is another man’s treasure, Simmons," Grif said, as he scooped up one of the half-eaten Oreo packs. "Oh, hell yeah, there's a few left in here!"

"Grif, this is EVERY man with a sense of hygiene's trash!" Simmons protested. "And don't eat those, you don’t know how old they are!"

"Is...that pile movin'?" Dr. Church took a step closer to the wall, to distance himself from the mountains of filth. Not even the Freelancer locker room after a mission had been this disgusting.

"See, Grif, even our guest is uncomfortable by your filth!"

"Everyone’s a critic." 

Grif tossed the empty bag aside and bent down near his nightstand. He pulled a small object out from beneath one of the legs and tossed it at the old man. "There you go."

Dr. Church winced and gingerly held the soldering iron at arms' length, as if the object possessed some form of deadly virus. "Why...why was it under your nightstand?"

"The leg was wobbling," Grif stated, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "I needed something to keep it still."

Dr. Church fought back his comment about how there were a million different items he could have used for that purpose. "Well...thank you nonetheless. Now I have to return to my team, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Boys, get out here! I’ve got somethin’ to show you!" Sarge interrupted from the entrance of the base.

"Coming, Sarge!" Simmons said, and hurried out of the room as fast as his feet could carry him.

"Ughhh, coming..." Grif's tone was less enthusiastic, as he followed suit.

Dr. Church didn’t need to be asked twice to leave this festering hellhole. He hurried past them out of the base and probably would have continued going until he reached the communications tower, if it hadn’t been for the robot blocking his path.

"Boys, say hello to Lopez 2.0."


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been wanting to get to this chapter for a while, mostly for the part at the end. Though a few people already knew about it, it’s nice to finally reveal, and I’m happy with how it turned out. Also credit for the name absolutely goes to Brandie (awakeonprospit on Tumblr).
> 
> Also I’d like to apologize if any Spanish in this chapter is inaccurate. The first few sentences are taken from the actual show, but the rest is the result of putting sentences in Google Translate, and double checking them several times.

"Can it...talk?"

Simmons was the first one to break the silence as the group kept their eyes locked on Sarge's newest creation. Dr. Church held his tongue, his previous desire to return to the Blues momentarily gone as he waited with the Red soldiers.

Finally, the robot lifted its head and stared at them. "Hola [Hello]."

Grif and Simmons groaned in unison, and Dr. Church made a face. Though, it was more in response to the sound of the robot’s voice than the reactions of the two beside him. The robot’s voice was eerily similar to Agent Washington’s, and a strong urge to punch it in the gut swelled inside him. Or at least, if the robot possessed guts to punch. He knew it was a terrible thought, and _yet_ —

"Spanish. Why is it always _fucking_ Spanish?!" Grif complained loudly, his voice breaking the old man’s train of thought. "Why can’t it be something like Hawaiian? Or French? Or Hell, even Sangheili?"

"Why not just change his language settin' if none of you understand Spanish?" Dr. Church said. "Those types of robot models come with a wide variety of languanges programed into their system, English included."

"Lo siento. [I’m sorry] ¿Mi elección del idioma no complacerte? [Does my language choice not please you?]" the robot said. "Mi configuracion del sistema actualmente se establecen en español. [My system settings are currently set to Spanish]."

"Hmmmm, y'know, I think I kinda like him this way," Sarge said. "Reminds me of the good ol’ days. Just me, a Spanish-speaking robot, and a couple of complete idiots."

"You're...you're talking about Donut and Grif, right, sir?" Simmons asked hopefully, while Grif shook his head in disbelief.

The shock had worn off for Dr. Church and he clutched the soldering iron tighter, ready to continue towards his team’s side of the canyon. "I certainly don’t want to interfere in this, uh, touchin' moment you’re all experiencin', so I’d best be on my way—"

"Now hold on a sec, Mr. High-and-Mighty." Sarge lifted his arm and blocked Dr Church's path. “Don't think yer goin' back there without me and my team. I didn't build this here robot for funsies."

"That is not a word," Dr. Church said. "And as I've explained to you before, Agent Washington has everythin' under control and would not appreciate any interruptions." How many times did he need to repeat himself?

"Nonsense! A little help goes a long way, especially in the form of an unstoppable robot. Because then the help can go on an unstoppable rampage of death and destruction, and leaving a large trail of blood in its place.

Dr. Church stared at him for a moment. “...That has nothin’ to do with repairin' a comm tower."

"I consider it a bonus."

"I consider you an imbecile." Dr. Church was unable to hold back his insult this time. "Now, I've been a patient man, but I really must be going. As I've said before."

"Well, we're comin' with you," Sarge insisted. "As _I_ said before, I built this robot and I intend to use it."

"Él no necesita ayuda. ¿Hay que quedarse aquí? [He does not need help. Should we stay here?]"

"See? Lopez 2.0 agrees with me. He's all excited to start computerin' and assisticatin'."

"Stop makin' up words. And that’s not what he said."

"You speak Spanish?" Simmons asked, his tone surprised.

"Enough to know that his...translation is highly inaccurate."

Truth be told, the ex-Director didn’t have the slightest clue as to what the robot had said. He had taken (and passed) many classes during his school years, but Spanish class was one he had never attended. And he knew that allowing these idiots to follow him over to the other side of the canyon would do nothing but further irritate Agent Washington, and as satisfying as it would be to see Agent Washington toss insults at someone other than him, he wanted to stay on the former Freelancer’s good side for the time being. But Dr. Church had a feeling that he would not be allowed to leave unless the Reds were with him.

"If I grant you permission to accompany me back, will you let me return to my team?" he finally asked.

"It’s a done deal, Blue."

Blue? Whatever, Dr. Church didn’t have the energy to question him further. He sighed impatiently, and gestured for them to follow.

\----------------

"What took you so long?"

Washington’s arms were folded across his chest as Dr. Church rejoined his teammates, and he didn’t miss the impatient tone in Washington's voice.

"Well, I would returned sooner, if it hadn't been for a few...distractions."

He flicked his thumb back at the Red Team, who had gathered at the bottom of the communications tower. "Heard you needed some help with repairin’'," Sarge said, and gestured to Lopez 2.0 proudly. "Well, the cavalry has arrived!"

"Voy a hacer mi mejor esfuerzo para ayudar. [I will do my best to assist]."

Washington was silent, his gaze on the Red Team for a moment, before he glanced at Dr. Church. "Why are they here?"

"They kinda invited themselves.

"Did you tell them I have everything under contr—"

"Yes, sir, I told them several times," Dr. Church assured him. "I knew they would do nothin' but bother you, and that you did not require help, but they refused to listen."

"Gee, that sounds familiar."

"Very funny," Dr. Church said. "Here's your tool. Tucker, don't you dare say it."

Tucker make a noise of unhappiness at being shut down before he could get an innuendo out as Washington took the soldering iron from Dr. Church. "Well, thank you for getting this. At least you've proven to be somewhat useful."

"Hey, come on, he did what you asked," Tucker said. "Why can’t you just say thanks without insulting him?"

"Tucker, now's not the time," Washington said in a warning tone. "Look, the tower's almost complete. Rookie, you help me with repairs. Tucker, just...give the Reds something to do that won't get on my nerves."

"That’ll be hard," Tucker muttered. " _Everything_ gets on your nerves..."

"50 squats, private."

"What?! But Leg Day was yesterday!" Tucker pointed out.

"You're a man of war," Washington said. "EVERYDAY is Leg Day."

"Ugh, fine..."

Dr. Church could tell that Tucker was getting annoyed with Agent Washington’s constant attitude, as well. And he appreciated Tucker’s attempts to stand up for him, though he was unsure as to why he would go out of his way to do this. But it was...nice.

"Hey, assholes! Wash says you gotta go!" Tucker bellowed down at the Reds as he began to do the squats as ordered.

"What? And miss out on a chance to see Dos.0 in action?" Sarge said. "Never!"

"Dos.0, sir?" Simmons asked uncertainly, and cast his leader a quizzical look.

"Like it? Just came up with it myself. Figured my children shouldn't share a name. That’s just unfair!" Sarge folded his arms.

"Yeah, well, Wash said to piss off. So...go stand watch or something," Tucker suggested.

"Stand watch? What for?" Grif asked. "We're the only ones in this canyon!"

"Yeah, we're not doing your bitch work!" Simmons said.

"¿Hay algo que pueda hacer? [Is there anything I can do?]" Dos.0 asked. "¿Cualquier cosa? [Anything?]"

"Everyone, just be quiet!" Washington yelled. "Rookie, test the radio for me and see if it's working now."

Dr. Church nodded, and reached to turn on the transmitter. He flicked the on switch upwards, and the radio crackled loudly. "Think it’s ready?"

"Only one way to find out." Washington cleared his throat and stepped closer to the transmitter. "Mayday, mayday, this is Agent Washington. Can anybody read me? Over."

No response.

"Mayday, mayday, this is Agent Washington and the Red and Blue soldiers of Project Freelancer. We are survivors of a shipwreck and we are in need of immediate rescue. Please respond. Over." Wash said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Still no response.

"MAYDAY, MAYDAY! This is Agent Washington! I am a soldier! Does anyone copy?!" His tone grew even more desperate with every word.

"It doesn't seem to be working..." Simmons said.

"No shit," Grif said.

"Ugh, why isn’t this stupid thing working?!" Washington had gone from desperate to frustrated within seconds.

"Why don’t you let me give it a try, sir?" Dr. Church suggested.

Washington huffed. "I don’t see what good it’ll do at this point, but fine. Knock yourself out, Rookie."

He nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but a thought occurred to him before he could get a word out. "What name should I use?"

"What name?"

"Well, if I were to send a message out to Lord-knows-who, it would probably be unwise to tell our unknown receiver that they're speakin' to one of the UNSC's most-wanted criminals."

"Most-wanted? Thinking a little too highly of ourselves, are we?" Washington shook his head. "But you are right about the name thing. In fact, Carolina and I were discussing that before we crashed. See...we told the UNSC that the Director of Project Freelancer was dead, and that we happened to pick _you_ up at one of the abandoned simulation sites, but we hadn’t decide on an alias for you before we crashed."

"And by 'didn't decide', I'm assumin' you mean 'she didn't approve of any of your choices?'"

"Hey, I had some names that suited you perfectly, but she just wasn't having any of it," Washington said smugly. "Though Epsilon seemed to like the majority of my suggestions. In fact, I used one of them for that chart in the base."

"Very funny."

"Who's joking?"

Dr. Church rolled his eyes, and began to brainstorm. Church was a bad idea, and he had a feeling it would bring up painful memories for his team. Not to mention, the UNSC wasn’t stupid and he would be better off going by his full name if he chose that as his 'alias'. Texas would be too obvious, and not only would it be inappropriate, it would likely bring up painful memories for him.

Texas... Speaking of memories, the name of a place suddenly stood out in his mind. A place that he hadn't thought about in a long time. He had spent so long alone with his thoughts about Allison's final moments, that it had been ages since he thought about the place where their earliest memories together had been formed.

The place they had gone to during their first shore leave after hooking up as a couple near the end of Basic, before his decision to become a scientist (he remembered her calling him 'Leo-Nerd' when he told her the news, and she had playfully nudged him when he took fake offense to her little nickname). The place that she had described as "the best barbecue place this side of Texas" and he had taken her word for it. The place she had eaten a rack of ribs that weighed more than he did before giving his cheek a messy barbecue-flavored kiss (he might have been a little drunk that night and more open to the idea of public displays of affection).

The place they had returned to several years later to recreate the memories of that night, but with the inclusion of a little black box in his pocket. The place where she had said yes, and he had pulled a ring out of the little black box and slipped it around her finger.

The place where his life with her had began. And a place where he could start a new life, without her.

He took a deep breath, and began to speak clearly into the transmitter. "Mayday, mayday, this is Private Dallas, relayin' Agent Washington's transmission. We are shipwrecked soldiers of Project Freelancer and need immediate rescue. Please send help. Over."

Yes, that was perfect.


	7. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this chapter got long. And they’ll probably get longer when there’s more characters, but I’m sure none of you are too bothered by that. Also hey, some not-so-new faces appear here.

Washington’s hope dwindled with every passing second of painful silence as the group waited for a response from the transmitter. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife and everyone was on edge as they waited for someone, anyone, to respond.

After fifteen seconds of agonizing quiet, loud static crackled through the air, which caused several of the soldiers to jerk in surprise.

"Hello...someone...there?"

A garbled voice could be heard through the static and Washington nearly knocked Dr. Church over as he hurried to the transmitter to respond. "Yes, yes, we're here! We're shipwrecked and running low on supplies and we need help!"

"It’s an emergency!" Simmons called to emphasize Washington’s point.

"Code red!" Sarge added.

There was a pause before the voice spoke again, more clearly this time: "What, like a lightish-red?"

The silence had returned, more palpable than before.

"What...the fuck did he just say?" Tucker asked in disbelief.

"Because, you know, red's a pretty broad spectrum," the voice continued. "There's scarlet, vermilion...I’m quite fond of mahogany myself—"

"Donut, is that you?" Sarge called.

"Sarge? Oh, heyyyyyy, guys~!" Donut said, his cheerful demeanor shining through the transmission. "How's it going?"

"Donut, we're shipwrecked and we're running low on supplies!" Simmons explained. "We need help!"

"...That sucks!"

"No shit, dickhead!" Grif stated bluntly.

"Donut, listen to me." Sarge had made his way up to the transmitter so the private could hear him clearly. "I need you to call for help."

"Help? Well, I know a guy if we wanna turn this into a three-way." The innuendo was lost on its source, but not on any of the other soldiers.

"No! Just...listen while I give you these coordinates."

Washington let the two continue their information exchange while he stood to the side. "Hey, Tucker, which one was Donut again?"

"He had pink armor."

Dr. Church had been silent since his transmission, not eager to get an earful from the overly-stressed Washington, but now he spoke up again. Both Tucker and Washington glanced over at him when he did.

"Wow, haven't heard you that quiet since the ship," Tucker noticed. "You alright, old man?"

"As fine as I’ll ever be. Although..."

"Although what?"

"Well...once we are rescued, they'll want to know our names. And obviously, I can't tell our saviors my real name, especially after usin' a fake one. So, perhaps you should start referrin' to me as Dallas from this point on, just so there aren't any slip-ups when we’ve finally left this godforsaken canyon."

"I can do that," Tucker said immediately. "It's got a better ring to it than Old Man Church."

"I truly hope you didn’t refer to me as such prior to this."

Washington sighed. "I guess it couldn’t hurt. In fact, that’s actually a smart idea."

"Thank you, sir."

Tucker cast his attention down to the remaining Reds. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Yeah, we heard," Grif said. "Call the old man Dallas, right?"

"...Not how I would phrase it, but at least you understand the point," The newly-renamed Dallas said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "And at least we got a message out."

"Very true," Washington said in agreement. "And...I guess I should say thank you for the help. Perhaps I was wrong to reject it at the start..."

"Did you say 5 or 7?" Donut interrupted quizzically.

"...I said 8," Sarge corrected.

Washington sighed and rejoined Sarge at the transmitter. "Did you give him our coordinates?"

"Sure did."

"Okay, good," Wash continued. "Now, Donut, those are our last known coordinates, but be sure to let the rescue team know we have no idea where we actually are."

"Don’t you worry, guys~!" Donut assured them. "If there’s anyone who’s good at finding Privates, it’s Donut!"

"...Roger that, son."

Washington decided not to comment on the subject. "Send help as fast as you can, Donut. We're counting on you."

"Okie dokie, boys! Bye for now!"

The transmission cut off abruptly, and everyone remained quiet for a moment. "Did Private Donut say what I think he said?" Dallas asked.

"Yes, yes he did," Tucker said.

"...And he didn’t realize—?"

"No, he didn't."

"I see."

"Well, men..." Sarge looked down at his team. "I don't wanna jinx our chances, but...we're absolu-posi-lutey gonna be rescued!"

"Now hold on a second—"

Washington was cut off by the soldiers' cheering below. Gunshots echoed throughout the canyon as each of them fired off several shots out of joy. The Freelancer attempted to interrupt yet again, but his efforts were unheard over the group's string of terrible ideas on how to waste their remaining supplies.

Dallas watched this scene unfold, oddly less annoyed than he would have been earlier in the week. Perhaps it was the excitement in the air of finally escaping the canyon. Or perhaps it was the fact that Agent Washington had been less hostile to him for the first time since they had crashed, even if it had only lasted an instant.

Whatever the reason was, Dallas felt a small moment of calm overtake him for the first time in a long while. Even when Caboose rejoined the group, the usual spring in his step even more noticeable.

"Back from your walk, Caboose?"

"Yes, Dr. Not-Church Church, I have returned from our walk where I was walking alone!" Caboose said. "And I have amazing news!"

"That reminds me, Caboose," Dallas said. "I would prefer it if you called me Private Dallas, or just plain Dallas, from this point on. Do you understand?"

The blue private nodded his head immediately. "Yes, I can call you that! Private Houston!"

"...No, Caboose, it’s Dallas."

"Ah, yes. Private Seattle!"

"That isn’t even located in Texas, Caboose."

"Private Iceland!"

Dallas sighed heavily, and gave up his attempts to correct the other soldier further. "You were sayin' you had some news to share?"

"Yes, I do! Everything is going to be great forever!"

"That's the spirit, Caboose!" Sarge called to him.

"Caboose, where have you been?" Washington had joined their conversation. "And what's this about news?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" Caboose said, likely smiling under his helmet. "I haven't even introduced him yet!"

"Introduced who?"

Washington was unaware of just how strongly he’d regret that question, how strongly _any_ of them would regret that question, until Caboose turned and called two simple words towards the Blue’s side of the canyon:

"Freckles! Come!"

\------------------

Dallas thought he had come to expect the Blue Team’s bizarre antics at this point and he didn’t think anything they did could surprise him anymore.

Until he met the giant Mantis-class military assault droid, its guns aimed right at the Blue Team, which Caboose had dubbed 'Freckles.'

"I call him that because of the spots on his nose," Caboose explained proudly, and gestured to the little red triangles on the robot’s front.

"Well, I gotta hand it to Caboose," Tucker said. "He definitely looks more like a Freckles than a Mantis."

"But where did he find...Freckles?" Dallas could not believe he had just referred to a weapon of war like it was some massive dog Caboose had found wandering about the canyon.

"Yes, I think we'd all like to know, Caboose," Washington added. "Care to explain?"

"Welll...Private Atlanta—" 

"Dallas." 

"—Dallas and I were walking, and he said he was going to go help with the repairs, and that I should go on our walk by myself. So I did! And I found Freckles in a cave. Yeah, I had to move around some metal...and body parts...but once I did, there he was! And then he tried to shoot the Reds, but he didn't and that’s good!"

"So...If Dallas hadn’t left you alone, you wouldn't have found...Freckles?" Washington whipped his head so quickly in Dallas’s direction, the old man was surprised he didn't get whiplash. "How very INTERESTING."

"Don’t you start—"

"Didn’t you tell Dallas to cheer Caboose up, Wash?" Tucker piped up before the two of them could butt heads. "Which he did?"

"Yes, Tucker, I did indeed cheer him up," Dallas responded matter-of-factly. "As I was instructed. Which I've mentioned previously."

Washington huffed bitterly. "Fine, you did as you were told. But now Caboose has to care for this...this THING—"

"Freckles," Caboose reminded him fondly.

"...for Freckles," Washington grumbled. "Which is a big, big responsibility, especially for you, Caboose."

"Yes, and I shall water him and feed him and take him outside!" Caboose had rehearsed this speech several times. "And I will shower him in love and everlasting friendship! And we shall go on many fun adventures together!"

"Well...Caboose, perhaps the first adventure the two of you should go on is more training," Washington suggested. "Even if we managed to get a rescue signal out, we need to keep on our guard while we’re still here."

"Aw, come on, Wash!" Tucker whined. "We’ve been working our asses off since we crashed, and nothing's attacked us. Nothing’s GOING to attack us!"

"I must agree with Tucker," Dallas said. "For the most part, anyway. We have been trainin' an awful lot and surely whatever's out there, if anythin' is out there, would have already attacked us by now if they were of hostile nature."

"Well, you never know for sure, and until we’re out of the canyon, we keep training," Agent Washington stated firmly. "Starting with five laps from all of you."

"What?! And what’re you gonna do while we’re running?" Tucker asked.

"I have to go take inventory of our remaining supplies," he said. "Now get going."

Tucker and Dallas cast a glance over at Caboose's new friend. The one with several weapons aimed at them if they dared to disobey. With a groan, Tucker hurried out of the base to begin his laps and Caboose followed with his new robotic pet.

Before Dallas could follow, however, Washington gripped his shoulder tightly. "If that robot harms anyone in this canyon, I will hold you personally responsible for letting Caboose wander off alone," he hissed furiously.

"What?! But—"

"I don’t care if you ended up helping me, you acted recklessly and I will not let more soldiers be hurt or killed because of your careless actions," Washington said. "It's like I told you when we crashed: You hurt these men, I hurt you."

"Sir, I followed your orders exactly! I did what I was supposed to!" Dallas insisted.

"Yeah, well, following orders doesn't always work out in your favor," Washington pointed out. "Just ask any Freelancer. Or, you know, the two who are still alive."

The statement hit Dallas like a ton of bricks, as his angry retort faded and that familiar feeling of regret took its place. He was silent as Agent Washington started towards the inventory section of the ship.

"Now go join the others with their laps," Washington called back to him. "And count for Caboose, because...he'll get it wrong. Trust me...he'll get it wrong."

"...Yes, sir."


	8. Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are getting high among the Blue Team, and Simmons joins the party. Also the chapters are getting longer and longer, which I’m sure no one minds.

“No, no, Freckles, go down! Here, watch me!”

Caboose bent his knees to demonstrate, and the robot imitated his master obediently. “OBJECTIVE COMPLETE.”

“Yes! Good boy, Freckles!” Caboose praised. “Tucker! Private New Orleans! Did you see that?! Freckles did a squat!”

“Dallas, Caboose. It’s Dallas.”

“Dallas, did you see Freckles do a squat?!”

“Yes, Caboose, I saw.”

“Tucker, did you see—”

“Yes, Caboose! We both saw him!” Tucker sounded exasperated, distracted by his own exercises. “How about for his next trick, you teach him how to fetch a stick? And then throw the stick off a cliff?”

Dallas was silent as Caboose proceeded to show off more of Freckles’ tricks; things like fetching and the like. Only, as Dallas noticed, there were several differences between an actual dog’s tricks and Caboose’s robot of mass destruction’s ‘tricks’.

Like the aforementioned fetch. While most pets would simply fetch the ball, Freckles thought the best choice was to blast several holes into the round object. Or shake, which nearly gave Dallas a heart attack when the ground beneath him began to tremble as Freckles stomped around.

“Um, Caboose? Perhaps your, uh, companion would prefer a much less...earthshakin’ activity?” He went silent as Freckles rotated his guns in his direction. “Or perhaps not.”

“No, Freckles, we don’t aim our guns at Private Detroit. He is our friend!” Caboose scolded.

Dallas shook his head. At least Caboose had gotten the first letter of his name correct this time. Perhaps he could learn letter-by-letter.

“I am so tempted to let that robot shoot me in the leg,” Tucker groaned. “At least then I can finally stop exercising.”

“I would advise against that, Tucker,” Dallas said. “Not only for your own sake, but for mine.”

Tucker glanced over at him. “Why’s that?”

“Well...Agent Washington may have informed me that if Freckles harms any of you, I will take the blame,” Dallas said. “Accordin’ to him, I should have not left Caboose alone when I came to assist with the communications tower repairs.”

“What? That’s total bullshit!” Tucker stood up straight for a moment. “How the hell were you supposed to know Caboose would find a massive fucking robot in the ship rubble?”

“I don’t know, but I’d rather not argue with Agent Washington over it. I’m not exactly in his good graces at the moment.”

“Okay, I know you guys have a history, and that you were kind of an asshole and everything, but he’s just being ridiculous now.”

“I wouldn’t say ridiculous. He’s just tryin’ to keep all of you safe.” Dallas attempted to mask the unhappiness in his voice, which Tucker did not miss.

“You seem like you couldn’t harm a fly let alone any of us,” Tucker said. “Wash is just being paranoid, as usual.”

“I don’t necessarily think that’s true—”

“Hold on a second.” Tucker’s attention had shifted to something else. “Oh, great, we got company.”

“What?”

Tucker pointed towards two soldiers crouched beside a nearby rock. Dallas recognized their orange and maroon suits of armor in an instant. “What are they doin’ here?”

“Whatever the reason, it’s really fucking weird that they’re watching us exercise," Tucker said. “Makes me feel uncomfortable, you know?”

“Shall we investigate their reasons for spyin’ on us?”

Tucker nodded and the two of them strolled towards their visitors, who seemed too caught up in a conversation of their own to notice the Blues approaching approaching:

“Maybe we should try some sort of 'Good Cop, Bad Cop’ thing on them?” Simmons suggested.

“You really think that’ll work?” Grif asked.

“Hey, what are you two doing?” Tucker interrupted.

The red soldiers stopped mid-sentence when they realized they were no longer alone, and stood up straight to face the other men. Simmons squirmed uneasily as he shifted his gaze from Grif to the Blues.

“Uh, uh...Okay, guys, look, I wanna just talk to you, but Grif’s not having any of it! I mean, uh, hey, what’s up?” he stuttered nervously. “No, I mean uh...how’s the weather? No, wait! Tell me what you’re planning!”

“Simmons, what on Earth are you ramblin’ about?” Dallas asked, eyebrows raised. “You’re not makin’ any sense.”

Simmons hung his head. “...I’m sorry.”

“So, can you guys not watch us exercise?” Tucker said. “It’s weird.”

“It’s REALLY weird!” Grif said in agreement. “But Sarge thinks you’re up to something because of how much you exercise, so now we gotta spend our free time watching you!”

“It’s not like you don’t have anything BUT free time,” Simmons muttered. “Which you use to nap and consume all the food at our base...”

Dallas cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt your little lover’s quarrel, but I feel I should inform you that any form of onslaught directed towards Red Base is the last thing on our minds. Agent Washington requires us to train only for our own protection.”

“Yeah, Wash is on this weird exercise-and-training kick,” Tucker added. “Nothing but waking up, running drills, cleaning the base, running MORE drills…It just never ends! I mean, I’ve got the finest calves on this side of the galaxy, but at what fucking cost?!”

“Wash makes you clean the base?” Simmons asked, intrigued. “Like...deep clean?”

“The base, our weapons, our vehicles...” Tucker said. “I swear, the guy’s obsessed with rules and order.”

Simmons let out a tiny noise of excitement. “Rules and order, you say? Well, I, uh, I think I need to see this for myself...Strictly for professional purposes, of course! Maybe stay a few days...”

“What?!” Grif and Tucker exclaimed in unison.

“Come on, I’ll be cool, I swear!”

“You are lying to their faces and you know it,” Grif muttered.

Tucker turned to face Dallas. “Well, Dallas, what do you think?”

Dallas had a feeling Simmons’ outlandish idea was conceived as an escape from the garbage dump known as Red Base, and he didn’t blame him for snatching the first opportunity to do so. Not that he particularly cared if another soldier joined their team, but he had a feeling Washington would be against the idea and the Freelancer’s mood was sour enough already.

“If you stay, you’d best make it clear to Agent Washington that I had nothin’ to do with this...”

“I can do that!” Simmons piped up excitedly. “I'll tell him it’s all my fault!”

\-------------------

Simmons’ excitement over his new, clean location did not go unnoticed to Dallas, and neither did the nonstop complaints about his orange former-teammate.

He was 'forced' to sit and listen to Simmons rambled on and on about how Grif never appreciated his attempts to keep Red Base up to code, while the maroon soldier gave his new base a scrub-down.

“...and he was always putting dishes in the sink!" Simmons was saying as he dusted the nearest surface. “Even when he didn’t eat off them! He actually thought that’s where dishes were supposed to go! I mean, who thinks like that?”

In reality, Dallas could have just rejoined his team outside and left Simmons to his complaints. But Caboose was in the middle of a 'shake’ practice with Freckles, and Dallas’s heart could only handle so many earthquakes in one afternoon.

“Hey, Dallas, they’ve moved onto 'roll over’,” Tucker called into the base. “It’s safe to come outside.”

“Ooh, Tucker! I’m glad you’re here! I was just about to tell Dallas about this new idea I had for the base!” Simmons held up two fingers. “Two words: chore wheel!”

“Dude, I got two words for you: Fuck off!” Tucker responded, as Dallas hurried back outside.

“Thank you, Tucker," Dallas muttered to him as they rejoined Caboose. "I appreciate the assistance."

Tucker flicked his thumb back towards the base. “No worries. I had a feeling you needed a break from Mr. Clean Jr. in there.”

“Has Agent Washington returned yet?” Dallas asked.

“No, thank God. Knowing him, he’d probably have us run laps or some shit when he gets back—”

“Tucker! Dallas!”

“...Speak of the Devil.”

Both soldiers cringed at the sound of Washington’s voice as he approached. “Why aren’t the two of you doing your exercises?” he asked.

“How do you know we haven’t done them already?” Tucker pointed out.

Washington folded his arms. “Because, Tucker, you’re not on the ground complaining about irritated nipples.”

“I’m telling you, my armor rubs right up against them if I work out too hard!" Tucker said. "Isn’t that right, Dallas?”

“If by right, you mean you kept askin’ me to look at them one evenin’ because you claimed to have a rash, then yes, I’d say that would be considered 'right’.”

Washington sighed. “Why do you two refuse to take our situation seriously?”

“Why can’t you just chill?” Tucker responded.

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re all able to defend yourselves!”

“Why?" Tucker folded his arms. "We were doing just fine on our own before you came along!”

Dallas remained silent as the two continued to bicker. “It’s just this feeling I have, that’s all. I can’t explain it...” Washington said.

“Oh, really?” Tucker said angrily. “Because I think I can. You’re a paranoid, ex-special-ops guy who’s used to being betrayed on a weekly basis. And now you’re huffy because you have to babysit your former boss, and you’re taking all your anger out on not only him, but us too! And you’re blaming him for shit that isn’t even his fault, just because you want to be mad at him for something!”

“Tucker, that has _nothing_ to do with you!" Washington said with the same amount of anger in his voice. "You have no idea what you’re talking about, so just stay out of it!”

“Now, hold on, Washington,” Dallas butted in. “I know you're mad at me, but let's not get Tucker involved in our squabbles.”

“Oh, like you do when you complained to them?” Washington retaliated. “Don’t pretend you didn’t, I know you’ve probably said shit about me behind my back.”

“Only that you’re bein’ unfair!” Dallas couldn’t hold back his own anger. “I realize that I did a lot of terrible things, David, but actin’ immature and treatin’ me like a criminal is doin’ nothin’ but wearin’ down your team’s patience. A leader who lets his feelin’s compromise and dictate how he treats others is hardly a leader. Believe me, I know.”

“Oh, so now you’re a damn expert on what makes a good leader?” Washington asked, hands on his hips.

“He knows more about it than you do, Wash!” Tucker said. “At least he’s able to admit he was a terrible leader! You’re just standing there and blaming him for everything that’s gone wrong since we’ve gotten here.”

“Well, considering he’s the reason everything went wrong up UNTIL this point, Lavernius, I’d say I have every reason to suspect him!”

“What the Hell is he going to do to us out here?!” Tucker asked. “Turn us all into AIs?! Oh, I’m so fucking scared.”

“If he did, you wanna bet he’d torture all of you like he did with his other AI?!” Wash’s tone grew more high-pitched with every word.

Dallas went rigid. “Agent Washington, this is NOT the time or place for that!”

“Oh, I think it is, Leonard," Washington interrupted him. “Remember how you tortured your AI?! Remember how one of them fucking destroyed itself in my head?! Because I do! Whether I want to or not!”

“Hey, remember when you murdered my best friend, Wash? Because I do!” Tucker added bitterly.

“Oh, so we’re going there, are we?” Washington snapped at him.

“Bitch, I’ve already went there! I’ll print it up and sell it to the world if I need to!” Tucker continued on, fists clenched. “Extra, extra, read all about it! Washington is a paranoid asshole who murdered my best friend!”

“I think you mean my best friend!” Caboose called from his and Freckles’ spot. “Besides Freckles! He can shake!”

“Caboose!” all three men barked at once.

Caboose seemed unfazed by the harsh response. “Yeah, we’re...we’re still working on shake.”

“Oh, Wash, you’re back!” Simmons hurried out of the now-spotless base. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of claiming the bunk between you and Dallas!”

Washington momentarily forget his anger towards his men when he noticed Simmons. “Wh...Why is he here?”

“Also I cleaned the base for you, sir. Twice!” Simmons said proudly. “Is it okay if I call you sir? You can call me champ if you want. Or...you know, son...Maybe...”

Washington shook his head. “Tucker, why is he still here?”

“Heck if I know. I don’t know anyone would willingly stay in a base with you,” Tucker responded harshly.

“He was tired of his teammate’s garbage takin’ refuge in their base,” Dallas explained.

“I never asked you,” Washington said.

“See? You’re just getting mad at him for stupid shit because you can’t find any _real_ reasons to get mad at him!” Tucker said.

“Look, as long as I’m leader of this team, I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety, whether any of you like it or not!” Washington stated firmly. “And if that means keeping you safe from people who can’t be trusted, than that's what I'll do!”

“We don’t need your protecting us!” Tucker said.

“I’m just trying to help you!” Washington said.

Tucker scoffed. “Help us with what?! Defending against attacks? No one is going to attack us! Not Dallas, or anyone else—”

Tucker’s words were cut off as a familiar voice echoed through the canyon over the sound of tires against the dirt:

“Attack!”


	9. Part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like every chapter with the Reds always ends up being about them. Though, Sarge is a lot of fun, so who’s complaining?

“Attack!”

Sarge’s voice rang out through the air as the warthog sailed over the hill, crashed to the ground with a loud thud and eventually skidded to a halt several feet from where the Blue Team stood.

“Oh, great...just what we need,” Tucker huffed as the team drew their weapons.

“Stow it, Tic-tac!” Sarge ordered in a gruff tone. “We ain’t here to fraternize with the enemy!”

“Tic-tac?!” Tucker said. “Bitch, my armor’s aqua! Or... turquoise... or something!”

“Yeah, okay, he’s saying ‘we’, but this is all him,” Grif said. “I’m just the driver.”

“What the Hell are you two doing here then?” Wash demanded to know.

“Again, not two. Just the senile old man,” Grif explained again. “He’s flying solo here. I can’t stress this enough.”

“First, you build this giant robot,” Sarge said. “Then you kidnap my second-in-command!”

All heads turned towards Simmons, who stared at Sarge with slight confusion. “Sarge, they didn’t capture-Wait...I was your second-in-command?! That’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever—”

“Can it, Simmons!”

“Aww...” 

Simmons hung his head sadly as Sarge continued. “It’s just as I predicted! You’ve all finally shown your true colors!”

“If he says Blue, I’m gonna—” Tucker started.

“BLUE! Your colors are blue!” Sarge exclaimed before Tucker could finish his threat. “It’s Red vs Blue all over again! Posin’ as our allies, only to stab us in the back years after this whole conflict seemingly ended!”

“He gave me this speech back at the base,” Grif said, chin-in-hand. “Get comfy, it’ll be a while before he shuts up.”

“I mean, how far back does this whole thing go?” Sarge rambled on. “Did you all know about the Freelancers from the very beginning?! And what about Church?! For years, you told us he was a ghost, and then he was some kinda ancient artifact or something! And then, he’s suddenly some kind of computer person, I-I don’t know!”

“Sarge, there is no Red vs Blue,” Washington said. “It was all created by the Director as a means to test the Freelancer training grounds and equipment.”

“Agent Washington is right,” Dallas said. “The conflicts between your teams were simply fabricated as a way to—”

“And YOU!” Sarge aimed his gun at Dallas. “You’re standin’ there, sayin’ this whole thing’s fakey-fakenstein, yet you choose the Blues over us! You even put Church on Blue Team, too! You’re obviously showin’ some kind of Blue favoritism!”

Dallas raised his hands defensively. “Alpha was placed on Blue Team because the color of Agent Florida’s armor was blue. I assigned him to Blood Gulch to guard—”

“You see! You’re even placin’ your own men on Blue Team! It’s all some sort of conspiracy against us! And just when I was startin’ to believe we could all work together, and be a little purple!”

“We can, Sarge!” Washington insisted. “Look, if you’re so worried about Simmons, we didn’t kidnap him!”

“We can’t get him to leave!” Tucker added.

Sarge was silent for a moment, before he lowered his gun. “Is this true, Simmons?”

Simmons sighed. “I’m sorry, sir. But since you took half the base for yourself, I’ve had to deal with Grif and his disgusting lifestyle habits. I just couldn’t handle it anymore!”

“Then that makes you a traitor!” 

Sarge lifted his weapon again, but before he could take aim, Freckles rotated his body towards the Red soldiers and his weapons began to power up. “THREAT LEVEL INCREASED.”

“No, no, Freckles, there’s no need for murdering here,” Caboose said. “Might anyone have a rolled-up newspaper possibly?”

“Look, we had nothing to do with Simmons coming over here!” Tucker said. “If you wanna kick anyone’s ass, kick his!”

“Dude, what the fuck?!” Simmons said, his voice squeaky and high-pitched from fear.

“Don’t you try and confuse me, Shamrock Shake!” Sarge barked at Tucker. “You’re housin’ a traitor to the Reds, which means y'all are traitors by default!”

“I’m aqua! Or...turquoise!” Tucker said.

“Tucker, calm down!” Washington ordered.

“What? Why are you getting mad at me?!" Tucker asked. "They’re the ones that barged over here and started talking about who-the-fuck-even-cares!”

“Look, we’re all a little stressed out-”

“Yeah, no shit, Wash. I wonder why?” Tucker said sarcastically, his arms folded. “It’s definitely not because you’re bossy and obnoxious, that’s for sure.”

“Now is not the time, Tucker!”

“You know what? I disagree.” Dallas butted in. “I think this is the perfect time to discuss this.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking start, too!” Washington said.

“No, I will start, Agent Washington! I’ve had to listen to you patronize and degrade me for weeks now, but I remained silent because I was certain you would lecture me over my past mistakes. But since you insist on bringin’ them up nonetheless, I think it’s high time we discussed your imperfections instead.”

“Dallas, I am not in the mood for this!” Washington hissed, while the Reds looked on with confusion.

“You ever think that maybe runnin’ your team ragged is the best way to prepare them for battle?” Dallas said. “Well, guess what? Only thing bein’ tested here are their levels of patience towards you.”

“Yeah, see? Dallas agrees with me!" Tucker added. "You’re fucking annoying!”

“Both of you need to stop!”

Tucker refused to listen. “You are the worst thing to happen to this team since Blue Boy over there decided to show up!”

“Excuse me, I am a man!” Caboose corrected him. “Blue man! Da-ba-dee-da-ba-die...”

Caboose’s voice trailed off into a hushed song as Simmons butted into the conversation. “Hey, come on, guys, I’m sure Wash is an amazing leader!”

“Blasphemy!” Sarge said, aiming his weapon at Simmons again.

This action did not go unnoticed by Freckles, and the towering robot aimed his guns at the jeep once more. “DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED.”

“Why are you constantly siding with him, Tucker?!” Washington said.

“Why are YOU being such an ass?” Tucker retorted. “He’d make a better leader than you! Hell, CABOOSE would make a better leader than you!”

“Oh, well, maybe we should make CABOOSE the leader of this team!” Washington offered sarcastically. “Maybe he should start making all our decisions!”

“They’d be a lot less biased than yours!” Dallas said angrily.

Caboose let out a small gasp of excitement and clapped his hands together. “I accept the position!”

“Shut up, Caboose!" Once again, all three men responded in unison to Caboose’s nonsense.

“DO NOT TALK BACK TO YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER,” Freckles said.

“Dude, Dallas, Wash and I are having an argument. There’s going to be talking back!” Tucker said. “Caboose, I think Freckles has a few screws loose. Or, you know, all of them!”

“WASHINGTON IS NOT THE COMMANDING OFFICER. HE HAS BEEN DEMOTED.”

“Wait, what?” Tucker asked.

“I second that statement,” Dallas said. “What are you goin’ on about?”

“IN THE UNANIMOUS DECISION BY THE BLUE TEAM, CABOOSE HAS BEEN PROMOTED TO TEAM LEADER,” Freckles explained. “DO NOT TALK BACK TO CAPTAIN CABOOSE.”

Silence hung in the air as horrible realization dawned on everyone. “Oh, no,” Dallas said aloud.

“Okay, look, I know you’re the 'big, fancy, professional sentences’ guy, but I think you can let an 'oh, shit, we are so fucked, holy fucking shit’ slide at a time like this,” Tucker muttered to him, his voice low so Freckles wouldn’t hear.

“Well, I am pleased to accept this position!” Caboose said proudly, his hands placed on his hips. “I will do my best to lead the Blue Team with honor!”

“Caboose, no, hold on a second—” Washington began, but his train of thought was cut short as Freckles rotated his guns towards him. “Freckles, this is all a misunderstanding!”

“Wait, Caboose is now leader?” Simmons said. “Yeah, I think I’d rather take my chances with the sentient trash dump…”

Simmons began to inch his way back towards his previous team, but unfortunately for him, his actions were misread by the Blue Team’s new 'leader’. “Oh, don’t you worry, Simmons! I know how much you wanna be on Blue Team, so you can stay here forever!”

“No thanks, I’m good!”

“PRIVATE SIMMONS. ABANDONING YOUR POST WILL DESIGNATE YOU AS AWOL,” Freckles informed him. “THIS DESIGNATION IS PUNISHABLE BY DEATH.”

“What?!” Simmons shrieked.

Grif cleared his throat. “Uh, hey, Sarge? Now they’ve kidnapped Simmons.”

“Then it’s war!”

Sarge didn’t bother with his own weapon this time, but instead, he made the decision to position himself at the machine gun attached to the Warthog. He promptly aimed the weapon at the robot, only for Freckles to imitate his actions, guns at the ready. The robot was ready to protect Caboose at any cost, and kill anyone who compromised his master’s safety.

“Say hello to Robot Satan for me, you mechanical menace!” Sarge bellowed.

“FRECKLES, NO!”

“SARGE, STOP-”

Cries of concern overlapped with each other, but before either opponent could fire, a shot rang out through the air from a third source. All voices were silenced immediately as every soldier shifted their gaze behind them, only to be greeted by a soldier in a familiar suit of lightish-red armor.

“Boy, you guys sure are noisy!” he said cheerfully. “I could hear you from the other side of the canyon!”

“Donut!”

Any form of tension between the men melted away and was replaced with sounds of delight as they circled around their rescuer. Even Dallas joined the group of overjoyed soldiers, relieved that Private Donut had arrived when he did.

Donut beamed over all the positive attention. “Aww, you guys must’ve really missed me!”

“Donut, thank God you’re here!” Grif said, relieved.

“We were just about to start killin’ each other!” Sarge informed him.

“I believe that the use of 'we’ is highly inaccurate,” Dallas pointed out.

Donut turned his head towards Dallas, and tilted his head. “Oh, I knew I recognized your voice on the radio! I never forget the sweet sound of a man’s voice!”

“...Right.”

“It was the name 'Dallas’ that threw me off, though!” The pink soldier continued. “I’ll admit you caught me by surprise! But once I heard Sarge’s voice, why, I was immediately turned on!”

Dallas exhaled slowly through his nose, unable to find a proper response to that collection of... ‘sentences’. He stepped back as Washington joined the group.

“Alright, Donut, can you lead us to the ship?” Washington asked, his tone relieved for the first time.

“What ship?” Donut asked.

“The one you came here on. You know, the one with the rescue team?”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?” Donut clapped his hands together. “Allow me to present the rescue team!”

He gestured widely to the purple figure behind him, who gave the group a friendly wave. “Hey guys!”

“Doc?!”

“You guys told me you needed help, so I got the best guy money could buy!” Donut explained cheerfully.

“Wait, you didn’t pay me,” Doc pointed out.

“Well, you know. Didn’t tip the pilot either.” Donut shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh well, what can you do?”

“Wait...what pilot?” The relief had drained from Washington’s voice.

“The pilot that dropped us off, silly!” Donut answered, his tone still full of pep and delight.

“Hold on a moment,” Dallas dreaded the answer to the question he was about to ask. “So...when you say 'dropped off,’ you’re sayin’ the pilot is no longer in the area?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s gone!”

“So you’re telling us…That you heard our distress signal, grabbed Doc—” The pitch of Washington’s voice grew higher and higher with every word. “—hopped on a ship, and then TOLD THE SHIP TO LEAVE? AND THAT’S YOUR IDEA OF SENDING HELP?!”

The Freelancer’s entire body trembled with rage as he waited for an answer from Donut, who seemed unaffected by the little outburst. “No, of course not! I brought Lopez, too!”

He made another wide gesture to the robotic helmet near Doc’s feet, as Dos.0 approached the group with slight curiosity.

“Escuché disparos. ¿Estamos bajo ataque? [I heard gunfire, are we under attack?]” he asked, before his gaze landed on the disembodied head.

“Hola. [Hello.]”

“¿Qué coño es esto? [What the fuck is this?]”

Dos.0 glanced around for an explanation from the simulation troopers, but they were all too dumbfounded to speak.

Donut folded his arms, his grin wide. “You see? I’d never leave my privates hanging—”

His sentence was cut short as his friends proceeded to collide their fists, guns, and anything else they could against his head and body.


	10. Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, ten chapters already. And we’re rapidly approaching the end of season 11, which means a certain someone will be showing his face soon. And it looks like Caboose gets a chapter to shine!

“This is the worst fucking day of my life,” Tucker muttered. “Rock fucking bottom. No way out.”

“Tucker, I’ve hit rock bottom before,” Dallas said. "This is… well, while it’s certainly not the worst experience of my life, I must admit it would be located in my bottom five, without question.“

"You have enough shitty moments to make a bottom five list?”

Dallas simply cast him a knowing look. “Right…sorry, man,” Tucker apologized.

“Don’t dwell on it,” Dallas said.

Dallas and Tucker both turned their heads towards the Freelancer on their left, his fists clenched in silent anger.

“What about you, Wash? Is this the worst day of your life? Don’t you just HATE today?” Tucker said, slight hostility in his voice.

Washington’s fists clenched tighter, but he refrained from answering his teammate’s question. Dallas wasn’t surprised by this action in the slightest. There was no way Washington could pin this on him, and everyone knew it. Tucker would probably stick up for Dallas if things escalated again and Simmons… Well, he was too distracted with his whimpering and sniffling and an occasional ‘I wanna go home’ to take sides.

Washington had no one to blame in this situation but himself, and Dallas should have been ecstatic. Key words were 'should have been.’

Because, oddly enough, he wasn’t.

Even after he gave the Freelancer a piece of his mind, even after the insults and false accusations that had been tossed his way over the past several weeks (months?), he felt no sense of joy or satisfaction towards Washington’s current state of misery. Not even a small amount of satisfaction at seeing his clenched fists or tense shoulders.

If anything, Dallas probably felt worse than he had before things went downhill.

“ATTENTION: OFFICER ON DECK.”

And speaking of going downhill…

Dallas heard the others groan as Caboose stepped into the ship, his head high and a spring in his step. “Yes, hello, thank you. Yes, thank you. Hello. You’re welcome.”

Their new leader stopped before the group, and paused to clear his throat. “Hello!”

“CAPTAIN. ALL TEAM MEMBERS ARE ACCOUNTED FOR,” Freckles informed him.

“Well, excellent news, Assistant Captain Freckles!” Caboose said cheerfully.

“Oh, my Lord…” Dallas heard Tucker mumble under his breath.

“Alright, everyone!” Caboose continued. “It looks like we have a new member today! Let’s all give Simmons a big Blue Team hello, yes!”

Caboose clapped wildly as the rest of the team stood unresponsive.

“Can I go home now?” Simmons asked, his voice trembling.

“It is so good to have you on board with us today for the Blue Team!” Caboose didn’t seem to hear Simmons’ request.

“CAPTAIN CABOOSE, AWAITING MISSION BRIEFING.”

“Ah, yes! Yes….Okay, yes! Ummm…” Caboose paused, and tapped the side of his helmet thoughtfully. “Psst, Wash. Washington? W-Wash? Hey…Washington?”

“...Yes, Caboose?”

“What is the first order of business?”

Washington sighed again. “We’re trying to get rescued.”

“Yes, rescued, yes!” Caboose said. “Does anyone have any suggestions?”

He glanced around at his team, eager for their contributions, but the team remained quiet until Washington spoke again:

“Well, we know the communications tower is working now, so we should continue to try and make contact. However, we’ll need to work on boosting the signal, since we were barely able to get one out last time. Even if we make contact again, there’s no guarantee we would be understood by anyone who received our message.”

“Ah, yes!” Caboose tapped his chin. “Let’s see, uh, Tucker! Go fix the radio thingy!”

“What?!” Tucker said. “Why me?! Why not Wash or Dallas, they’re the ones who fixed it before!”

“Well, uhhhh…” Caboose turned his head towards Washington. “We, uh, need Wash for another job. He is mean and scary, so he can be our lookout!”

“Lookout?” Wash sounded perplexed.

“Yes, you will look out for all the bad guys and the scary guys! And the bad and scary guys, too!”

Washington looked up at Freckles. “Well, there’s a bad, scary robot who wants to kill me right here…”

“Yeah, why can’t Freckles be lookout?” Tucker asked. “It’s what he’s built for!”

“Freckles is on Best-Friend patrol!” Caboose explained, and gently patted Freckles’ leg.

“Well…what about Dallas?” Tucker continued. “He knows a lot about repairs and stuff.”

“Yes, Dallas, yes!” Caboose said excitedly. “Okay, uh, Dallas is a doctor! And he is good at repairing things!”

“This is true…” Dallas admitted, curious as to where Caboose was going with this statement.

“Yes, alright, Dallas can be Freckles’ doctor! And make sure he is always feeling good and gives him lollipops after a checkup.”

Dallas was grateful that his helmet blocked his disgruntled expression. “Caboose, while I possess the title of 'doctor’, I am not a medical doctor. Also the term 'doctor’ may not apply to-”

“ARE YOU DISOBEYING THE ORDERS OF YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER?” Freckles asked, his guns aimed at Dallas.

“…On second thought, perhaps a checkup is just the thing Freckles needs.”

“You hear that, Freckles? You’ll get a nice checkup and a lollipop!”

“HOORAY,” Freckles said, his voice monotonous as usual.

“Um, do I need to do anything, Caboose?” Simmons asked, his voice soft.

“Oh my God, a Red!”

Caboose jumped, startled for a moment by the enemy in their base before he remembered. “Oh! Uh sorry, sorry, that’s my bad. Sorry, sorry! Yes, Simmons, yes, um, Simmons… you do what you normally do for the Reds. But instead… for the Blues! Yeah, for the Blues!”

Simmons tilted his head, slightly puzzled by this request. “Uh, yes Sir…”

“Simmons, if I may ask, what exactly was your job for your former team?” Dallas asked.

“What do you mean?" Simmons asked. "I just did it.”

“Alright, team! Let’s go!” Caboose skipped out of the base with Freckles on his heels, and the men shared a collective sigh.

“I hope you two are happy,” Washington muttered.

“Hey, don’t you try and pin this shit on us!” Tucker said before Dallas could open his mouth to protest. “It’s not our fault this happened!”

A tired exhale was Washington’s response as he stormed out after their 'leader’, leaving his remaining teammates alone. Tucker shook his head and looked over at the older man beside him.

“Well…good luck with the whole 'robot doctor’ thing,” Tucker said grimly.

“And good luck with boostin’ our communications signal,” Dallas replied, his mood just as low as his teammate’s.

“Right…”

With heavy sighs, they headed out after their team, while Simmons remained motionless in the now-empty base. “Okay, um…I’ll just stay here, I guess.”

——————-

A robot doctor.

Even for Caboose, this sort of position was ridiculous. No, this was beyond ridiculous. It was downright preposterous!

And yet, Dallas found himself with a stethoscope in hand (Caboose had insisted he use it “like a proper doctor”) as he checked the massive robot’s 'heartbeat’. A massive robot who possessed no blood, and no heart, therefore no heartbeat.

But the robot didn’t need a heart to turn Dallas into swiss-cheese if he disobeyed his leader, so Dallas kept 'examining’ the mechanical behemoth.

“Is Freckles okay?” Caboose hopped up and down in place as he watched Dallas work. “Is it time for his lollipop?”

Dallas rolled his eyes and lowered his stethoscope. “Well, Caboose, considerin’ Freckles is composed of metal, he has no heartbeat to examine.”

“You mean Freckles is dead?!”

“What— No!” Dallas answered quickly, as Freckles rotated his guns in a threatening manner. “I am simply informin’ you that, when it comes to checkin’ vitals, your tool of choice is ineffective.”

“…So Freckles is a zombie?”

“…You know what, Caboose? Perhaps it is time for Freckles to receive his, uh…reward.”

“You hear that, Freckles?!" Caboose asked. "You passed your checkup! It is time for lollipops!”

“EXCELLENT.”

Caboose nonchalantly (or so he thought) slipped Dallas an old, half-eaten green sucker (not a lollipop, a sucker) that looked like it could have been found in the little basket of suckers doctors often kept for the children after a checkup. “Psst, Dallas, give this to him! It is apple-flavored!”

Well, at least Caboose was beginning to remember his name properly. “Of course, Caboose,” Dallas said, exasperated as he gingerly held the treat up to Freckles. “Here…”

“THANK YOU.”

One of Freckles’ guns aimed itself at his 'reward', and Dallas immediately dropped it to the grass before the robot could blast it into a smoldering crater.

“Checkup successful!” Caboose exclaimed. “Thank you, Doctor Dallas!”

Dallas scowled in response, and his frown lowered as he noticed Agent Washington approaching them.

“Well, Caboose…I’ve inspected the entire canyon. No bad guys to be found. Though I did find Doc reattaching Donut’s toes to his foot…” Washington shuddered at the memory.

“Ah, yes, excellent work, Agent Washington!” Caboose said in a commanding voice. “I admire your determination! Why, maybe someday you could be the leader of blue team!”

“Oh, yeah, maybe someday,” Washington said.

“That’s the spirit!”

The Freelancer’s sarcasm was obviously lost on Caboose, but Dallas saw him shake his head as Caboose distracted himself with Freckles yet again. “Agent Washington, I have a very important question for you!”

Washington sighed heavily. “Yes, Caboose?”

“Um… do you think Freckles would look… silly in a hat?” Caboose asked. “Possibly a tiny hat?”

“You want to… dress your pet up in people clothes?” Washington repeated.

“To boost the moral of the troops!” Caboose explained, as if it were obvious.

“…You know, I just remembered I haven’t checked for any bad guys on the ship,” Washington said. “We wouldn’t want someone to take over our base while we’re distracted with hats, now would we?”

“What?! Why didn’t you say so?!” Caboose sputtered.

“Must’ve slipped my mind, Captain. Maybe you could talk to Dallas about the hat thing? I’m sure he’d love to discuss it with you…”

“Hold on a moment…” Dallas tried to say.

“That is an excellent idea, Agent Washington! Now that he has given Freckles his checkup, he can stay here and talk about hats! And you go look for bad guys on the ship!”

“I’ll take care of it right away.” Washington nodded and turned to leave, unable to resist giving Dallas a glance as he passed.

Dallas couldn’t read his expression due to his helmet, but he was positive there was no smile on the Freelancer’s face. And he was sure Washington was still attempting to find some way to pin this situation on him.

But he couldn’t, and they both knew it.

He watched as the other broke his gaze and hurried back towards the wrecked ship they called a base. Dallas sighed and looked back at Caboose, who was excitedly listing off different types of hats. “I was thinking maybe a sombrero of some kind.”

“…Sure, Caboose, whatever you say.”


	11. Part 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tucker, Dallas, and Wash have talks. Also a certain someone will probably appear in the next chapter or so. And to date, this is probably the longest chapter!

Dallas was filled with gratitude when Caboose finally allowed him to wander off by himself.

Sure, Caboose was a sweetheart. Despite the fact that he wasn’t exactly the brightest light bulb around, he had never insulted Dallas or treated him like he was the scum of the Earth, and it was a refreshing change of pace from Washington’s form of leadership. But if Dallas had to listen to another love story about the Alpha, he was going to lose his mind. Not that he necessarily minded hearing the young man rave about his former AI (he found it…almost flattering) but he had heard so many stories about the Alpha that by this point, he could write a novel on his adventures with Blue Team. Not to mention the guilt surrounding the Alpha and Project Freelancer as a whole seemed to pop up more and more as time passed, and it was becoming harder to ignore such thoughts while stuck with the man who seemed to be the Alpha's self-proclaimed number one fan.

He spotted Tucker by the communications tower, distracted with repairs, and weighed his options. He could either accompany his teammate with repairs, which might result in perverse jokes or more conversations that surrounded the Alpha, or find another member of his team to accompany with their task. After his ‘doctorly duties’, he had a desire to do something actually productive.

Then again, his only other sources for companionship were Simmons and Washington. Washington was definitely a no-go, and not just because of their rocky history. The Freelancer had made a habit of sneaking off to some hidden place inside the destroyed ship and Dallas didn’t have the energy nor the motivation to poke around the ship for him.

Simmons was always an option, but lately he’d been distracted with something he dubbed 'Basebook’ (“So I can keep in contact with the Reds!” he had insisted). Not to mention Dallas was still unsure about how he felt towards the team's new recruit. He was intriguing, to say the least, if not a bit odd. But he also seemed to repress many of his own issues with passive-aggressive remarks and a cheery tone, and even then, it was obvious he was attempting to hide something.

…Okay, so Tucker was definitely the lesser of three evils.

He shook his head and hurrieded towards Tucker’s location. He could hear several curses coming from his direction as he got closer, followed by the sound of a tool being slammed against metal.

“God-damn Caboose, making me do this shit… I don’t know how to repair things!” Tucker was muttering to himself as he absentmindedly hit the controls with a wrench. “Anytime I watched something with a repairman, he always ended up banging the girl who called… Like, come on, lady, if you’d let the guy do his job, then I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess!”

“Need some help?”

Tucker dropped the wrench out of surprise and spun around to face Dallas. “Oh, it’s you! Finally got away from playing animal doctor with Caboose?”

“Fortunately, yes.”

“Well, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, so if you wanna help, be my guest.”

Dallas nodded and joined Tucker at the radio. “Well, we’ll need to boost the frequency of the signal, as Agent Washington stated.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, science stuff,” Tucker said. “I just can’t believe Caboose is making ME do it. Idiot…”

“His job assignments are rather idiotic," Dallas admitted. “Though, I’m sure he means well.”

“Man, don’t fall for that! He used to threaten me behind Church’s back!” Tucker thought for a moment. “Though, that was probably O'Malley’s fault…”

“Mmm-hmm…” Dallas got to work, slightly tuning him out.

“But he DID call Tex a slut at one point! That was totally his fault!” Tucker suddenly remembered a conversation from their time in Blood Gulch. “Hey, can I ask you something personal?”

“Depends on the question.”

“Church said that Tex used to cheat on him…” Tucker said. “If Church is based off you, does that mean your wife—”

“That is the kind of question you should not ask, nor should you bring it up ever again.” Dallas's tone had gone dark.

“Alright, geez, I was just curious!” Tucker held up his hands defensively.

“Well, stop. I’d rather not talk about my wife right now.”

“Are you sure?”

Truth be told, he would have loved nothing more than to talk about Allison. But not her flaws, especially not to his womanizer-of-a-teammate. While Allison had never cheated on him, she had caught the eye of many men when they had been in a relationship. They would even flirt with her when they were out-and-about in public together! And while she never paid them mind, she never really did much to stop them either. She often found it amusing more than tiresome.

He remembered how jealous he got at that age at seeing men flirt with the best thing in his life, and she acted like it wasn’t that big of a deal. Perhaps that jealousy had manifested itself in the Alpha’s mind as some form of 'she was a massive cheater’ and that sickened him. He didn’t want to see her in that light, and he didn’t want anyone else to think of her that way.

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” Dallas said, as he continued working.

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “…Why don’t you talk about your life?”

“Me?”

“As long as the conversation does not involve the Alpha. I’ve heard enough about him from Caboose.”

“His stories are probably wrong, but alright," Tucker said. "Can I talk about Junior?”

Dallas looked away from the radio for the first time. “Your son?”

“Yeah, man, I’ve told you about him, right?”

Tucker had already pulled a wallet out of some secret compartment on his armor which was filled to the brim with photos of him and a young Sangheili that seemed to grow bigger with every picture. “Look at this handsome kiddo!”

“…He’s an alien?”

Dallas had not expected that. He had heard Tucker tell the rest of the team stories about his child on multiple occasions, but he never paid too much attention when it came to the child’s species.

“Yeah, that’s kind of a funny story,” Tucker said. “Pregnancy wasn’t really that funny, though. I don’t remember much after that, mostly because Doc says I slipped into a coma, but eh, details…”

Ah, so the idea of human-alien procreation WAS possible. The topic had been discussed on multiple occasions in his line of work, but a proper answer to the question had never been decided. “So, you birthed an alien child in the middle of a battlefield?” Dallas asked.

Tucker pointed at his stomach. “Yeah, where do you think I got all those marks on my stomach from?”

Dallas shrugged. “I assumed those were just stretchmarks.”

“Nah, man. Those aren’t just any old stretchmarks.” Tucker’s tone had gone unusually serious, yet still sounded over dramatic. “Some soldiers get wounds from explosions or bullets or knives or some shit, but my wounds are from creating LIFE.”

“Well, that’s…good, I suppose?”

“No guessing about it, I love my kid.”

Guilt, much stronger and more painful than the guilt surrounding Project Freelancer alone, began to tug at Dallas's insides as Tucker went on to explain the sentimental value behind each photo in his wallet. Tucker, a young man who was practically forced to bear a child in a time of war (and an alien one at that), was so involved in his child’s life and had so much love to give him.

He was a better father than Dallas had been in a long, long time.

“What about you, got any kids?” Tucker asked.

Dallas shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. I mean, well, technically, I do have a daughter by blood, but I lost the right to call myself her father many years ago.”

“Oh, uh…sorry, man,” Tucker said apologetically.

“It is what it is,” Dallas said sadly. “I made choices that distanced myself from her, and now...well, now I must live with the results.”

“Well, that’s kinda lame,” Tucker said. “You should try talking to her, see if you can’t work things out.”

“We’re past the point of talkin’ things out.”

“Hey, it’s never too late to talk!” Tucker insisted, and gently nudged the other’s shoulder to lighten the mood.

“I don’t know…”

Dallas’s words were cut short as a familiar figure in blue-and-yellow armor approached the tower.

“Oh, great, speaking of talking…” He heard Tucker mutter under his breath.

Washington stopped near them, quiet as the two other men met his gaze. All three men remained motionless and wordless for a moment, before the Freelancer spoke up:

“Hey.”

“Where have you been?” Tucker asked quickly.

“I’ve been trying to figure out a way to fix this whole 'Caboose’ situation,” Washington explained.

“You mean the one that you caused?” Tucker pointed out, his arms folded.

Washington sighed wearily. “Look, I just came over to see if you needed help with the tower.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Dallas is taking care of it.”

“Yeah, I noticed… But I was just wondering—”

“We don’t need you parenting us all the time, Wash!” Tucker said indignantly, his tone rising.

“Tucker, I’m not trying to parent you. I’m just offering to help fix the tower!”

“Well, we don’t need your help, either! Right, Church?!”

All three men went rigid at Tucker’s exclamation, and Dallas was positive his teammates had the same shocked expression beneath their helmets as he did. Even Tucker appeared surprised at his own words.

“I-I mean… Dallas. Right, Dallas?” Tucker finally choked out, his correction too-little-too-late.

Dallas remained silent for a moment, before he set down the tool he had been clutching tightly. “You know what, Tucker? It appears we might need some help after all.”

“Dallas?”

“You said it was never too late to talk, Tucker. Well, while none of you might be my biological children, I think we all need to take a step back and talk about things.”

Dallas looked towards Washington, who actually seemed invested in what he had to say for the first time, so he took a deep breath and continued: “Agent Washington. I don’t expect you to like me anytime soon. I don’t expect you’ll ever forgive me for what I’ve done, either. I understand that. However, these boys have a strong attachment towards their old leader and, I guess by extension, me. And us constantly bickerin’ in front of them isn’t going to do anythin’ but make them pick sides, which will not help our situation in the slightest. If we are to survive in this canyon, we need to form some kind of truce. For their sake, and for our own.”

Washington held up a hand to silence him, but there was no malice in his gesture. Instead, he turned to face Tucker after he lowered his hand. “Tucker, have I told you about my time during Project Freelancer?”

“Uhh, no?” Tucker said, sounding slightly confused.

“Agent Washington…”

“Dallas, please, let me tell the story.”

It was more of a request than a command, so Dallas let him speak. “Well, as you know, the Freelancers were some of the best soldiers around. Agent York was our security specialist, Agent North was the sharpshooter, Carolina was an expert in martial arts and Tex was… Well you know Tex.”

Tucker nodded as Wash continued, hesitant to say his next sentence. “I…I was known for getting a grappling hook stuck to my balls.”

“…Okay, Wash, where are you going with this?” Tucker asked.

“I would very much like to know as well, Agent Washington.” Dallas sounded just as perplexed by this story as Tucker.

“My point is, I’m not exactly the best soldier around. Even taking the old leader board into account, I was probably the worst soldier there. But when Church and Carolina disappeared, I wasn’t given much of a choice when it came to being a leader. So, this is all still really new to me. And maybe you’re right, Dallas…Maybe I was letting our vendetta get in the way of being a good leader.”

Dallas was surprised to hear the Freelancer actually say all this, and was even more surprised when he realized the man still had plenty more to say. “Like you said, I can’t forgive you for what you’ve done. But as much as I hate to admit it, you’ve shown me that you’re not a threat to the men of this team. And…I suppose it’s unfair to keep harping on you for things that really aren’t your fault or rejecting your skills that would actually help our situation, especially if my decisions are affecting the team as a whole.”

“Well…I do appreciate hearin’ you say all that, Agent Washington,” Dallas responded. “Though, I must disagree with one thing.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You’re not a bad soldier.”

“What?” It was Wash’s turn to be surprised.

“Yeah, Wash, you’re probably the best one here,” Tucker agreed. “If anything, you’re TOO good. I mean, Church never made us run laps or do squats or anything like that. He just kinda took the blame when shit went wrong.”

“Well, Caboose is in charge and has control of a massive robot that could kill us at any minute. We’re stuck in a canyon with dwindling supplies and our only chance at rescue has a possibility of failing,” Washington pointed out.

“Okay, maybe you don’t have to take the blame for ALL of that,” Tucker said. “Maybe just…some of it.”

“I guess that’s fair.”

“So, uh, are we all good?” Tucker asked hopefully.

“Yeah, Tucker, I think we are,” Washington said. “Dallas?”

Dallas cast Washington a satisfied glance. “I think we’ll be fine.”

“Attention, Blue Team, team, team, team!”

Caboose’s fake-echoey voice interrupted the men’s conversation and all three turned to face their leader, who stood at the base of the tower with Freckles by his side. “Okay, yes, I know that fixing the tower thingy is important and stuff, but uh…I really need you guys to go back to Blue Base and kinda clean up. Yeah.”

“Clean up what exactly?”

“Garbage and robot parts and Oreo bags all over. Um, Simmons actually won’t stop rocking back and forth in the corner and it’s kinda scary.”

“Alright, Caboose. We’ll be there shortly,” Washington informed him.

“Excellent! Now, Assistant Captain Freckles! Initiate Piggyback Sequence!”

“YES SIR.”

Caboose hopped up onto the Mantis’s back and he promptly stomped away with his master as the rest of the team looked on in silence, before Washington spoke: “Guys, get back to the base and do what you can to keep Caboose and Freckles distracted. I need to head into the ship for something.”

“What? You’re gonna make us clean all that by ourselves?!” Tucker sputtered.

“Just for a little bit,” Washington began to make his way down to the bottom of the tower. “Maybe I can put a stop to all this…”

“Wash, wait a sec!” Tucker called, which made the Freelancer stop. “Uh…look, what I said before about you killing Church…That, uh, that was kind of a dick move…”

“Don’t worry about it, Tucker.”


	12. Part 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, who on Earth could those mysterious men be near the end of the chapter? I’m sure they won’t play any major roles in chapters to come. Also I hope my sarcasm is thick in text.

“Where the hell did all this trash even come from?” Tucker asked, wincing as he gingerly tossed what might have been a sock at one point into one of their trash bags.

“It was all so clean…Then poof!” Simmons muttered, his voice trembling. “Trash! Trash everywhere! Like…poof. I was just cleaning, and…POOF!”

“That’s not the only thing that went poof,” Tucker muttered to Dallas, as the two of them continued their cleaning.

“Is he goin' to be alright?” Dallas wondered.

Tucker shrugged and continued to clean, his attention off their cowering teammate in the corner. Dallas decided to do the same before Freckles noticed them slacking and decided to intervene.

“So, uh, what do you think Wash is up to?” Tucker bent down to pick up more garbage, only to retract his hand from a mysterious lump. “Okay, I swear that shit’s alive!”

“I can’t say for sure.” Dallas reacted to Tucker’s outburst by bringing his foot down on the sentient object and tossing it in his bag. “I’ve noticed that he has a tendency to disappear for lengthy periods of time, so I assume he’s been workin’ on whatever he’s planned for a while now.”

“That, or he’s addicted to jerking off and he doesn't want anyone to know it.”

Dallas rolled his eyes and tied his bag shut. “Where does Caboose expect us to toss this?”

“Uh…”

Tucker was already in the process of chucking his bag of garbage out the nearest ‘window’, which happened to be a large crack in the ship’s hull. Dallas shook his head and decided to follow suit. “Well, hopefully this should improve Simmons’, uh, state.”

Simmons was indeed overjoyed that the floor was visible again, and had returned to happily scrubbing the cold metal floor with a rag and a bottle of cleanser as Caboose pranced into the base.

“Ahh, yes, excellent work, Blue Team!” he said cheerfully as he watched Simmons work. “All the bad trash is gone and Simmons is not scary anymore!”

“Yeah, super…” Tucker muttered sarcastically.

“But where’s Agent Washington?” Caboose darted his head around to look. “I do not see him.”

“Um, Caboose! Could you come out here please?!” Washington’s frantic voice from outside the base answered the blue soldier’s question.

“Ah, there he is!”

“Caboose, he sounded like he requires assistance,” Dallas pointed out.

“Aww, I’m sure he’s alright. Washington is very tough!”

“Isn’t Freckles outside?” Tucker asked.

“Caboose, we should definitely assist Agent Washington,” Dallas urged him.

“Ah, yes, okay~!” Caboose hurried towards the entrance to the base with the team on his heels, only to happen upon a battle-ready Freckles with his guns aimed at Washington.

“Caboose, your pet is trying to kill me!” he said frantically as Freckles stared him down. “Tell him to stop!”

“Wha—Freckles! Freckles, what are you doing?” Caboose asked in an accusatory tone. “Are you killing Agent Washington?!”

“AGENT WASHINGTON HAS FAILED TO FOLLOW ORDERS,” Freckles said. “HE QUESTIONS AUTHORITY AND DISOBEYS YOUR COMMANDS. FOR THAT, HE MUST BE ELIMINATED.”

“Ah, well see, Wash, he’s just doing that.”

“Caboose, please come down here!” Washington begged. “I need to talk to you!”

“Ahh, yes, he probably wants to talk about what an awesome leader I am,” Caboose said. “I would want to talk about that, too!”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” Tucker said, rolling his eyes.

“Go talk to him, Caboose,” Dallas urged, for the Freelancer’s sake.

“Okay!” Caboose skipped cheerfully over to the Freelancer and took a stance between him and Freckles, which prompted the robot to lower his weapons immediately. “Yes, hello, Agent Washington! What seems to be the problem today?”

Washington sighed heavily, and took a moment to collect his words before he spoke: “Caboose, I’m sorry. I’m sorry your best friend left without saying goodbye. Maybe he thought one of you would try and stop him, maybe it was just something he couldn’t put into words, I don’t know. But he left both of you behind.”

He paused for a moment, and looked over at Tucker and Dallas. “He also left behind someone who, in a sense, WAS him at one point. And while the two of us have our history, the two of you looked at him and didn’t see a man who ruined your life and the lives of your friends. You saw a version of your friend you could latch onto and fill the spot where your old friend once stood. And then you had to deal with me tearing him down and holding a grudge towards him, which probably bothered you a lot because of HOW similar he is to Church. And my anger towards Dallas probably drove you closer to him, and farther from me, which created a wedge between the team.”

He shifted his attention back to Caboose. “And that wasn’t right of me. Even if Dallas and I don’t get along, it was wrong of me to get you two involved in our issues. I now know that I wasn’t being a very good friend.”

“CAPTAIN CABOOSE IS NOT YOUR FRIEND,” Freckles said. “HE IS YOUR COMMANDING—”

“Uh, no, that’s okay, Freckles. We’re all friends here,” Caboose assured him.

“Yes, we’re friends, Caboose,” Washington repeated. “And as your friend, I wanted to say I’m sorry. I know it’s not much, but I made you something…”

Washington stepped to the side to reveal something on the ground behind him. The object was old and its once vibrant shade of blue was now faded, with several nicks and scratches across the surface. But Caboose let out a gasp of joy similar to that of a child’s on Christmas morning at the sight of the gift.

“Oh my God, my old helmet!”

He hurried to pick the helmet up, and Dallas could tell there was a wide smile behind the blue soldier’s visor as he rotated it in his hands.

“Man, I wish my team was this emotional,” Simmons sniffed as he watched the conversation unfold.

“CAPTAIN CABOOSE. YOU SHOULD RETURN TO YOUR COMMANDING DUTIES,” Freckles said.

“Look, Caboose, I know you like Freckles.” Washington gently placed a hand on this teammate’s shoulder. “But he’s really dangerous and…he’s really big, Caboose.”

“Massive,” Tucker agreed.

“He is rather colossal,” Dallas added.

“Yeahhh, he is a big boy, isn’t he?” Caboose looked up at his robotic companion. “He would not need a car seat when riding in the car.”

“Nah, buddy. He wouldn’t,” Wash said in an understanding tone.

Caboose smiled and patted the mantis’s leg affectionately. “Freckles, you’re one of the best machines ever! And I like it when we play together and have piggyback rides and try on funny hats. But…I think you should listen to Agent Washington from now on.”

“ARE YOU SURE?” Freckles asked him.

“Yeahhhh, he’s real smart and nice, and not as scary as I thought.”

“ACKNOWLEDGED.”

“Wash, you can be leader again if you want.” Caboose gazed down at the helmet in his hands. “It’s not as much fun as I thought. It’s real hard.”

“I know it is, Caboose. And thank you.”

Dallas was impressed at how Washington handled the situation, and had not resorted to violence or raising his voice once during the conversation with Caboose. He watched as the blue soldier removed his current helmet, revealing a mop of messy, black hair, and pulled his 'new’ helmet down into place. “Why it fits perfectly!”

“Pretty sneaky, Wash,” Tucker said, as Washington rejoined the rest of his team. “A couple of mushy words, an old helmet and suddenly, you’re leader again.”

“Nothing sneaky about it, Tucker. I meant every word.”

“It was rather admirable, Agent Washington,” Dallas admitted.

“Well…thank you, Dallas,” Washington said. “Hopefully, things will be a little less hectic now.”

“Uhhhh, I can’t see anything!” Caboose exclaimed, arms extended in front of him as he took a few steps forward, his dimmed visor blocking his vision. “Is it nighttime?”

“Guess I spoke too soon.” Washington said.

“I’ll help him,” Tucker sighed, though he seemed to be in high spirits as he assisted his dimwitted teammate. “Alright, man, hold still for a sec.”

“Well, even so, a malfunctionin’ helmet is a smaller problem than a violent mantis,” Dallas pointed out. "So this is a step in the right direction."

“You’re actually optimistic about something?” Washington asked. “Stop the presses.” 

Dallas did not miss the faint hint of amusement in Washington's voice. “Very funny, Agent Washington. Though I will admit it’s a relief to talk to you without the threat of actual hostility.”

“Don’t get too used to it." Washington said. "Once we’re out of the canyon, I’ll tear you a new one. But for now…It is pretty nice to have a civilized conversation with you.”

A sigh of faint relief was Dallas’s response as he watched Tucker struggle to fix his teammate’s helmet. He didn’t care if he had to deal with Washington’s attitude for the rest of his life after they were rescued. For now, there was a much-needed calm amongst the team, and Dallas was determined to savor every second of it.

Unfortunately for him, the moment was broken by a sudden bullet that whizzed past his head, barely missing his helmet.

“What the fuck was that?!” Tucker’s attention was snapped from Caboose's helmet as more gunfire echoed around them.

“Everyone take cover!” Washington ordered, as he crouched behind a rock. “Tucker, keep Dallas covered!”

“On it!”

Tucker ducked behind a separate rock and pulled Dallas close in a protective fashion, while the still-blinded Caboose continued to wander aimlessly through the gunfire. “Why are there fireworks? Is it my birthday?”

“Freckles, cover Caboose!” Washington ordered frantically.

“AFFIRMATIVE,” Freckles responded, his metal body protecting his helpless master as Caboose started to hum 'Happy Birthday’ to himself.

“Why are they shooting at us?!” Simmons exclaimed. “We’re friendly!”

“I don’t know, but I’m about to end it!” Tucker said, his gun ready.

“Tucker, we don’t even know who they are!” Washington pointed out, as more bullets bounced off the rocks.

“You’re right, Wash. Why don’t we sit down and get to know them before they kill us?” Tucker pointed out sarcastically.

“…Freckles, take them out!” Washington ordered.

“ENGAGING TARGETS.”

The mysterious enemies didn’t stand a chance against the war machine’s missiles, and within seconds, they were nothing but a few lifeless figures against the hard canyon ground. Everyone was deathly silent for a moment, and only now did Dallas realize that Tucker had been clutching his hand tightly during the attack. His grip only strengthened when a familiar warthog soared over the hill with the Reds and Doc seated inside.

“What in Sam Hill is goin’ on over here?!” Sarge demanded to know.

“Some guys just showed up and started shooting at us!” Tucker explained, and finally released Dallas’s hand.

“Ah, hombre … Tal vez debería haber mencionado ver a un hombre extraño cerca de las cuevas. [Oh, man… Maybe I should have mentioned that I saw a weird guy near the caves.]” Dos.0 said regretfully from the passenger’s seat.

“Shut up, Dos.0! This ain’t the time to be joking around!” Sarge ordered.

“…Ahora me arrepiento de nada y espero que mueras. […Now I regret nothing and I hope you die.]”

“Agent Washington, what should we do?” Dallas asked, ignoring the Reds.

“Alright, everyone take cover in the base!” The Freelancer commanded. “Just in case there’s more of them hiding in the—”

“RUN!”

Before Washington could finish his sentence, an unknown figure in orange-and-grey armor darted in front of the group, and a glowing, blue shield formed in front of his person mere seconds before a bullet from an invisible source made contact. Dallas actually did a double take upon seeing the lightshield; the technology was eerily similar to the armor enhancement that Agent North had used many years ago.

“Oh, God, not another guy!” Simmons squeaked.

Before Washington or any of the other soldiers could ask questions, another bullet whizzed towards their savior. This time, the attacker hit his target, which happened to be Orange-and-Grey’s leg. He cursed loudly and fell to his knee as blood began to pool around his foot.

“What are you still doing here?! I said run!” the injured man hissed painfully.

“Excellent work, soldiers.”

The simulation troopers’ heads darted around for the source of the new voice, until an ominous figure stepped out of the nearby rubble and stood before them. He was about as tall as Wash, but had a wider body structure and a different style of armor than any of the Reds or Blues, with a defining green X down the front of his helmet. In his hands was the sniper rifle he had previously used to fire at the soldiers.

“You killed my men. I suppose that makes you the real deal, then.” His voice was deadpan, and gave off the unnerving impression of a being somewhere between that of a man and a machine.

“And now I’m confused,” Simmons stated.

“Who are you?” Tucker asked, as his gaze shifted from the first man to the other.

“Quiet. All of you need to come with me, now,” X-face said, avoiding Tucker's question. “I will answer any questions once we’re at a safer location.”

“Oh, and why would we go with someone who can’t even tell us their name?” Washington crossed his arms.

“Because if you don’t come with me now, I’ll have no choice but to take you later,” X-face said matter-of-factly.

“Why don’t you fuck off?!” Orange-and-Grey spat.

“Shut your mouth and be grateful I didn’t shoot you in the head,” X-face responded calmly.

“God, you're such a fucking douchebag!” Orange-and-Grey griped.

X-face shook his head and turned his attention back to the Reds and Blues. “This is your last chance. Come with me, or I will return with more men and use force.”

Dallas and Washington exchanged a glance, as the Freelancer considered the man’s offer for a moment. “…Freckles, take him down.”

“AFFIRMATIVE.”

Freckles obediently took aim at X-face, but the man vanished before the robot could attack. Dallas’s eyes widened at the use of cloaking from the stranger, not unlike Agent Texas’s former armor enhancements, and a feeling of uneasiness began to form inside him. Who were these men and how had they come into possession of enhancements that mirrored those of Project Freelancer? Why had one of them attempted to force them to follow him?

“Uh, any of you guys know how to patch up a leg?” Orange-and-Grey asked.

Well, there was no time like the present to start asking questions.


	13. Part 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix. Felix exposition. Exposition. Felix. FELIX. Did I forget someone? Oh, yeah, Felix.

“Is it normal for my toes to feel numb?”

Doc let out a hearty chuckle as Orange-and-Grey awkwardly rotated his foot, in an attempt to restart the blood-flow. “Oh, that’s nothing to worry about! Clears right up in a few hours.”

“Oh, great…”

Orange-and-Grey pulled himself to his feet, and was instantly greeted by the barrel of Agent Washington’s rifle. “You’d better start fucking talking if you don’t want your head to look like your leg.”

“Woah, hey, calm down there!” Orange-and-Grey exclaimed. “Now let’s see: Aggressive, overly-paranoid, and a hint of melodrama? You must be the famous Agent Washington.”

Washington lowered his gun for a moment. “Wait, how do you know who I am?”

“And let’s be real, it’s more than a hint,” Tucker added playfully.

Orange-and-Grey eyed the other soldiers. “Which means you all must be the Reds and Blues.”

“Oh, my God, how does he know?!” Caboose exclaimed, his malfunctioning helmet still blocking his sight.

“Gee, I wonder. It’s not like we’re wearing red and blue armor or anything,” Grif said sarcastically.

“We are?!”

“Okay, can someone PLEASE fix his helmet?” Grif asked.

“I’m asking you again: How do you know who we are?” Washington raised his gun again, barrel aimed at the stranger’s head.

Orange-and-Grey let out an amused chuckle. “Come on, everybody knows about the guys who brought down Project Freelancer and took out the guy behind it! You’re some of the galaxy’s greatest heroes!”

Dallas went rigid and noticed Washington staring at him. Even with their expressions blocked by visors, Dallas knew they shared the same thought: Revealing Dallas’s actual information to the stranger would likely have catastrophic results.

“Okay, look, I can see how you might think we’re heroes—” Simmons began.

“—because we are!” Sarge proudly continued for him.

“Well…kinda,” Doc admitted.

“We really aren’t,” Grif finished.

“All of you, stop giving him information,” Washington ordered, his gun raised again. “Especially since we know nothing about him.”

“Hey, you wanna know stuff? I’ve got nothing to hide.” Orange-and-Grey casually shrugged.

“How about you tell us your name?” Dallas asked.

Orange-and-Grey shifted his attention to Dallas, silent for a moment before he spoke again: “Alright. Tell me yours first, old man.”

“Excuse me?” Dallas asked, offended.

“Hey, come on, an eye for an eye. Or something.” He waved his hand as if he were shooing away a fly.

Dallas remained calm. Orange-and-Grey just wanted a name, and he had one to give. “It’s Dallas.”

“Dallas?” Orange-and-Grey asked in disbelief. “Like the city?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Huh. Kind of a weird name, isn’t it? Did your parents hate you or something?”

“I’m assumin’ your name is somethin’ ordinary, then?” Dallas replied casually, masking his feelings of annoyance towards the cocky man before him.

Orange-and-Grey shrugged again. “Depends.”

“Depends on what?” Dallas tilted his head.

“On how you feel about the name Felix.”

“Felix?”

“Yep, that’s my name.” The officially-introduced Felix neatly folded his arms across his chest. “I’m also 5'4”, I’m an Aquarius and I like long walks on the beach.“

"Very funny,” Washington butted in, his tone anything but amused. “Felix, why are you here?”

Felix sighed heavily, his body language more solemn than before. “You want the long answer, or the short one?”

“Do you want another bullet in your leg?”

“Hey, that bullet’s there because of all of you!” Felix pointed out. “If I hadn’t been there, it probably would have gone through one of your legs instead!”

“He’s not wrong,” Tucker said.

“Fine, then…long answer,” Washington sighed. “Just…please explain to us what’s going on.”

“Like who were those guys who tried to kill us?” Grif asked.

“And if we’re really these impressive heroes, then why hasn’t a rescue ship been sent to fetch us?” Dallas crossed his arms. “Surely someone would have caught wind of a shipwreck with, as you put it, ‘the galaxy’s greatest heroes’ aboard?”

Felix cast him a befuddled glance. “Wait, where do you all think you are? Like…do you realize where you’ve crashed?”

The soldiers exchanged looks. “Well, we’ve come up with a few ideas,” Simmons said.

“Some of us think purgatory.” Grif listed off the possibilities on his fingers. “A lot of us think Bermuda Triangle—”

“—which is highly unlikely, considerin’ the lack of land masses in that location,” Dallas added. “Despite the conspiracy theories that have circulated for many years.”

“You never know!” Grif said. “I mean, maybe parts of Florida floated there where the whole state suddenly blew up due to…whatever made it blow up.”

“Yeah, did anyone ever find out what actually happened to it?” Simmons asked curiously.

“…Felix, please inform us of our actual location,” Dallas said, in an attempt to deliberately avoid that particular subject.

“Well, the reason no one’s come to rescue you is the same reason no one’s come to rescue them,” Felix explained, and flicked his thumb back towards the pile of lifeless bodies a few yards away from where they stood.

"Rescue who, a pile of corpses?”

“No, the people of this planet,” Felix continued. “Chorus, to be exact.”

“Chorus…” Dallas repeated softly. “I know that name. There was a planet on the edge of colonized space named Chorus, which was abandoned after the war.”

“Bingo.” Felix flicked a finger pistol at the older man. “Completely abandoned, and completely free of UNSC jurisdiction. Which means the people of Chorus decided to try running things on their own. Only problem was they weren’t very good at their job, and soon shit began to fall and fall hard.”

“Well, great, so we crashed in the middle of nowhere, on a planet in the middle of nowhere?” Tucker complained. “That’s just fucking fantastic.”

“But how did we end up so far from home?” Simmons wondered. “We weren’t THAT far from Blood Gulch!”

A few of the soldiers shifted uncomfortably, with a few scattered murmurs along the lines of “Not sure” and “No idea how it happened” as their responses. When no one actually spoke up, Felix decided to continue with his explanations: “Unfortunately for the planet, some of its inhabitants got fed up with the way things were going after the war, so one side put together a rebel army and decided to fight for their freedom. You know, patriotic and all that. Kind of ironic, really, starting a war because of what happened after the last one.”

“And this rebel side is—?” Washington asked.

“The New Republic. It’s the side I’m on, and it’s the side that wants to keep you all alive.”

“I’m assumin’ that the gentlemen in the grass are on the opposite team, then?” Dallas asked.

“Yep. Call themselves the Feds.”

“But why would they attack us?” Simmons piped up. “And why did that one guy try to force us to come with him?”

“It’s like I told you: You’re the greatest soldiers in the galaxy.” Felix rubbed the back of his neck, in a gesture that indicated he was hesitant to say the next sentence. “And…I’d be lying if I said this little rescue mission of mine didn’t come with a few strings attached.”

“Hold on now, son, what kinda strings we talkin’ about here?” Sarge asked.

Felix let out a heavy sigh. “The Rebels need your help. Once word got out that you were all on the planet, they sent out a rescue team to find you.”

“Why would they want to find us?” Tucker asked.

“Well, they’re hoping you might be the key to winning the planet’s war.”

Grif was the first one to speak up before any of the other soldiers could consider their options. “…Yeah, no.”

Felix seemed taken aback by the orange soldier’s response. “No?”

“Look, Felix, we’ve been stuck in a canyon for several weeks now,” Washington explained. “We’re in absolutely no condition to fight some global war.”

“Yeah, we did enough fighting back in Blood Gulch to last us a lifetime,” Tucker added. “The worst thing we gotta worry about is Caboose killing someone with our tank.”

“That was not my fault!” Caboose said loudly. “Sheila’s just…hard to control! But she’s a very nice tank with just a few issues! And that’s okay!”

“Point is, we want off this shitty planet,” Tucker continued, ignoring Caboose’s ramblings. “No offense.”

Felix shrugged indifferently. “Hey, it ain’t my shitty planet.”

“But aren’t you, like, a rebel or some shit?” Grif asked.

Felix scoffed. “Nah, I’m a Freelancer.”

Almost instinctively, every soldier aimed their gun at him. Even Dallas followed suit, despite the fact he knew it was impossible for this man to be one of his agents. Not only did he not recognize his voice nor had his name not been in the project’s database, but even if he took the possibility of an alias into account, nearly everyone had been taken into custody by the UNSC after the MOI had fallen.

Felix defensively raised his hands at the sight of their weapons. “Woah, hey! I meant, like, a mercenary! You know, a gun for hire?”

Well…that answered Dallas’s questions, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Judging by the men’s lowered weapons and reassured mutterings, they appeared to share his sentiments as well.

“Wait a second,” Washington said. “Does that mean you’re only here because you’ll get paid for bringing us back?”

“Hey, I get paid to do a lot of stuff. But yeah, right now you’re at the top of my list.”

The Freelancer crossed his arms. “So, you expect us to fight in someone else’s war just so you can get paid?”

“It’s for a good cause?” Felix weakly pointed out with a hopeful shrug.

Washington wasn’t having any of his nonsense. “I think we’d rather take that ride off planet, thanks.”

Felix cast a disappointed glance around the group of multicolored simulation troopers. “You know, I had a group of rebels with me when I came out here to find you. Three fine soldiers who had their whole lives ahead of them. Think about that.”

Washington huffed as Felix distanced himself from the teams to contact the New Republic and update them on his progress. He made absolutely sure Felix was distracted before he subtly turned his body to Dallas, his voice low. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s a tad obnoxious, but I don’t know enough information about him yet to form a solid opinion.” Much like Washington, his voice barely above a whisper. “And while I’m not in any hurry to participate in another war, I’d still like to learn more about him, and how both he and his unfriendly counterpart came to acquire technology identical to that of Project Freelancer’s.”

“So you noticed it, too, huh?”

“It would be difficult not to, Agent Washington.”

“Fair point.”

“—Roger. Felix out.”

The men silenced themselves as Felix ended his transmission and turned to face their group once more. “Alright, we need to start preparing this canyon for the shit-storm of the century, and we need to do it asap. I’m talking defense out the ass, and a detailed list of your weapons supply. We should also probably start marking potential sniper’s nests, just to be on the safe side.”

“Woah, woah, hold on a second!” Washington protested. “We barely know you, what makes you think we’re going to just give you all our personal information?”

“I’ll tell you why: If you don’t prepare for a fight, then we might as well wait around for a massacre,” Felix said bluntly. “Unless you’d rather just dig your own graves and lie down in them, you know, make things nice and neat for the Feds. Anyone feel like volunteering?”

Washington bitterly held his tongue as Felix crossed his arms in a scolding fashion. Dallas kept his eyes on Washington, as he waited for him to give an order or state his opinion on the subject.

Finally, Washington turned to face the awaiting teams, his head bowed. “Tucker, see if you can finish fixing Caboose’s helmet.”

“Who said that?!” Caboose bellowed frantically. “Is someone there?”

“Sarge, you and your team start preparing an arsenal,” Washington continued. “If it can be used as a weapon, bring it out and prep it for battle.”

“Now you’re speakin’ my language!” Sarge cocked his gun proudly.

“Dallas, you and I will keep talking to Felix. We’ve got plenty more to discuss.”

“Well, alright then,” Felix said cheerfully. “Let’s see if you guys are as good as they say!”

“Prepare to be sorely disappointed,” Dallas heard Grif murmur as the Reds hurried back in the direction of their base.


	14. Part 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are many parts of this fic I’m incredibly excited to write, and this chapter was one of them. And I think it turned out pretty good. Here’s hoping everyone else does, too (though my knowledge of how to put on armor is poor, so forgive me)
> 
> Also a heads up: Felix uses the term ‘nut-job’ twice. Don’t know if that would bother anyone, but just in case.

“Locus?”

“Yep.” Felix crossed his arms as he casually leaned against the cold metal of the ship. “Guy’s so far off the deep end, he prefers to go by the name of his armor instead of his birth name. He’s fucking weird.”

Even with their armor, Dallas didn’t miss Washington’s faint little shiver. “That’s unsettling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that you were first name ‘Agent’ and last name 'Washington’,” Felix said. “My mistake.”

Washington side-eyed his former boss for a moment before he addressed Felix again. “It’s just…some old habits.”

Felix let out a small chuckle. “Well, let’s hope more of those old habits of yours pop up when Locus shows his face again.”

The mercenary had a certain demeanor to him that rubbed Dallas in a weird way. His cockiness mixed with slight charm and wit gave off a vibe that reminded him of Agent York, if the obnoxious pieces of his personality had been amped up to the n-th degree. But there was also something unnerving about him that Dallas couldn’t articulate.

“So, uh, question for you, Mister City Man,” Felix said with a simple gesture to Dallas.

“Alright?”

“How’d you get saddled in all of this?” he inquired. “Like I said…The Reds and Blues are galaxy-wide heroes. But I don’t remember reading about any 'Dallas’ under their names in the papers.”

Dallas thought quickly. “I was on my own for a lengthy period of time. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, the Reds and Blues crossed my path and made me an offer I could not refuse. But even after accompanyin’ them on their journey, I kept to myself and refrained from any form of socializin’. That included the media coverage the teams received for their actions involvin’ Project Freelancer.”

“It wasn’t until after we crashed that he even told us his name,” Washington added, apparently ready to corroborate his story.

“Ah, a lone wolf, huh? That’s cool, that’s cool. And what about you?” He directed the last question towards the Freelancer.

“What about me?” Washington asked.

“Any tragic backstories? I heard some real horror stories went down in Project Freelancer. Whole thing run by some sad, old nut-job, right? Wouldn’t be surprised to hear that you got out with some scars.”

“You…could say that.”

Dallas went stiff again at the mention of Project Freelancer, but he remained silent and kept his posture casual as best he could.

“Speaking of Freelancers, didn’t you have another one with you? One with an AI?”

“They disappeared shortly after the crash,” Washington said. “Haven’t seen them since.”

“Oh. Well, uh, here’s hoping they’re alright,” Felix said. “I mean Freelancers are some of the toughest soldiers around, right?”

“Yes, they are." It was Dallas who responded instead of Washington.

“Oh? You know a lot about them?” Felix asked, sounding surprised.

“Well, not exactly. But I have heard my share of tales when it comes to Project Freelancer.” Dallas felt his chest tighten as he spoke. “Impressive men and women who were fighting under the misguided eye of someone who thought he was doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, like I said, sad old nut-job,” Felix said. “I heard about the stuff he did. Maybe he did the right thing if he was on his way to be some kind of weird-ass super villain, but otherwise the UNSC would have a different opinion.”

“How was Locus able to cloak himself?” Washington quickly steered the subject away from the topic of the Director, for Dallas’s sake. “You know, turn himself invisible?”

“Oh, the Federal Army’s got all kinds of fancy stuff,” Felix explained, and formed his light-shield with the flick of his wrist. “Got this little beauty off a dead soldier, whom I might have killed. Maybe. Possibly. Guy didn’t even hear me coming. It was fucking awesome.”

“It’s pretty impressive. Haven’t seen technology like that outside of Project Freelancer,” Washington said.

“Well, welcome to the future, Wash!” Another wrist flick and the shield disappeared. “Technology’s advancing, everything’s incredible, and everyone’s using their fancy new weapons to kill each other.”

“Does the New Republic possess the same type of weaponry?” Dallas inquired.

“Yeah, they wish. The Rebels are barely squeaking by with whatever weapons they can get ahold of,” Felix said. “Which reminds me, you guys wouldn’t happen to have any high tech weapons or armor aboard that ship, would you?”

“Nothing but regular armor,” Washington said.

“Oh…well, at least you can accessorize, right?” Felix pointed out. “Maybe try some different color combos? I think ol’ Dallas here could use a splash of color to add to that plain, black armor. What do you think, Dallas?”

Dallas refrained from responding, still irked with Felix's previous comments. Washington, however, was struck with inspiration. “You know what? Maybe it’s time I indulge some of those 'old habits’ from earlier. Dallas, follow me.”

“Me?” Dallas went from irritated to surprised.

“Yes. Follow me,” he repeated and gestured for the older man to follow him into the base. “Felix, we’ll be out shortly.”

Felix shook his head in disbelief, as he watched the two approach the armory and disappear from his line of sight. “God, you two are just… cryptic.”

————————

“I don’t like him.”

“Yes, I’d imagine you wouldn’t enjoy hearing someone insult you with the inability to speak up about it.” Agent Washington removed his helmet, revealing a mess of frazzled, blond hair, and set it aside before going to work on the rest of his armor. “But even so, you need to remain calm.”

“I’m well aware, Agent Washington.” Dallas folded his arms. “I have no plans to reveal my identity to him and I can hold my temper. I was forced to do it for weeks after the shipwreck. That isn’t the only reason I dislike the mercenary, anyway.”

“What is it, then?”

Once the Freelancer’s old armor was removed, he stepped over to the waiting suits of armor and began to search through them for one particular style.

“He just seems too educated on the subject of Project Freelancer, and on the events that unfolded within. Even if my—” He sighed heavily. “—crimes were revealed to the public, it feels like he’s presentin’ them to us in a deliberately cruel sense. And he seemed rather interested in my name and history.”

“It did seem suspicious that he wanted to know so much about you.” Washington eventually found the suit he was looking for, and began to slip the lower pieces over his legs. “But like I told you before, Carolina and I convinced everyone the Director was dead, and that we just found you on the way to kill him. As far as anyone knows, you’re Dallas. You haven’t committed any crimes and you’re just the rookie on Blue Team from Blood Gulch. Just some random old man who hasn’t done anything to deserve scorn.”

There was a long period of silence as Dallas watched the other don his armor. “May I ask you something, Agent Washington?”

“Shoot.”

“I’m aware I made a numerous amount of mistakes during our time at Project Freelancer. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the answer to my question was 'yes’. But…was I truly hated by the rest of the Freelancers? Even before the sarcophagus assignment, before Agent Texas entered the picture, did you all completely loathe me?”

The Freelancer tightly clutched the chest-piece in his hands. “You want the truth? At first, a lot of us did look up to you. We thought what you were doing, what WE were doing, was really the right thing.”

“Doin’ the right thing…” Dallas let out a halfhearted chuckle. “Well, I suppose that’s something we had in common. I tried to convince myself that my actions were pure. And when I first constructed Project Freelancer, I truly did want to end the war.” His tone grew somber, as he slowly removed his helmet and stared down at his grief-stricken expression in the visor. “But when I was given the opportunity to possibly bring her…bring Allison back… I was willing to do anything necessary to achieve my goal. That included sacrificin’ the lives of the young men and women under my control.”

Washington stopped for a moment, his attention on Dallas. “And even if I had succeeded in revivin’ her," Dallas continued, "even if I had been able to see her again…would she even reciprocate my feelings after everythin’ I’ve done?”

Washington sighed heavily and set down the next piece of armor. “Alright, look. I’m not gonna lie to you. You’ve dug yourself into a pretty deep hole, and nothing you do will probably fix what you’ve done. But…”

“But?”

Washington shifted a bit, as he attempted to gather his words. “You’re good to Caboose and Tucker, probably better than Church ever was, from what I’ve seen. You were right about the two of us needing to get along for the sake of the team. And even if you dislike me and my leadership skills, you still listened when I gave you an order, unless it was something you physically could not do. I don’t have to like you to admit that you do possess SOME good qualities.”

Dallas found himself speechless as the Freelancer continued: “You’ve made a lot of mistakes that you can’t fix. But it doesn’t mean that you’ll always make mistakes for the rest of your life. You’ve proven that here in the canyon, and away from Project Freelancer. And who knows? Maybe if you keep it up, and maybe...when you finally see Allison again, she’ll be proud of how far you came.”

Dallas felt a lump form in his throat as Washington picked up his aged grey-and-yellow helmet. “And…when we’re finally out of this canyon, I might just hold off on tearing you a new one for a little longer. You seem to have done enough of that to yourself already.”

Dallas’s lips curled into a thin, tired smile, while Washington pulled his helmet down into place over his head. “Thank you, Agent Washington.”

“That wasn’t too sappy, was it? I’m usually not very good with the emotional stuff-”

“It was fine.”

“Well, in that case, then it’s back to calling me 'sir’ for you, Rookie.” He made no attempt to mask the slight amusement in his voice.

“Oh? With that armor, I’m tempted to start referrin’ to you as Recovery One again, for old times’ sake.” Dallas attempted to counter the Freelancer’s humor with some of his own.

“Please don’t.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Washington let out a low chuckle as the other slid his helmet back into place. His eyes shifted from him to an abandoned can of spray paint tucked inside a container of assorted pieces of armor, likely jostled into its resting place while the ship had crashed. Intrigued, he reached inside to pick the can up, and turned it in his hands to read the name of the color on the label.

Cobalt blue.

“Hey, what do you say we take up Felix’s suggestion to give you some color?”


	15. Part 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter’s the longest one I’ve written so far! And looking back, I could have stuck the first part in the previous chapter, but hey, live and learn. Get ready for a feels trip, kiddies~!

"Alright, just give the color a moment to dry, and you should be all set."

Washington tossed the now-empty can of spray paint aside, and it clattered to the floor with a loud noise that echoed through the ship's desolate hallways. He took a step back from Dallas, who turned to examine his newly-painted armor in the mirror on the wall.

Dallas had to admit: Washington had done a fine job with his accents, and he was grateful that the Freelancer hadn't taken the opportunity to spray something perverse on his helmet. Then again, that sort of juvenile prank was more up Tucker's alley.

An odd, warm feeling began to spread throughout the older man's body as he continued to stare at his reflection and the glimmering, still-damp patches of cobalt-blue that now decorated his armor. It was simply a few splashes of paint here and there, nothing particularly unusual or special about them. In fact, he and Washington now looked oddly similar in armor appearance, the only difference being the color of their accents.

And yet, to Dallas, those spots of blue made him feel...different. Different than the man who used to lead Project Freelancer, different from the man who nearly took his own life over the loss of his significant other. Hell, even different from the man who had been forced to don a pitch-black suit of armor and leave his old life behind.

He almost felt...like a brand new person.

Like Dallas.

He felt the corners of his lips twitch upward ever-so-slightly at this thought. Perhaps Agent Washington wasn't the only one in a sappy mood.

Washington's voice broke his train-of-thought. "Come on, we'd better check on the guys. Hopefully they've done a good job preparing for any attacks."

Dallas followed Washington as he led the way towards the ship's exit. Muffled voices became clearer once they stepped outside into the bright sunlight:

"It just goes to show that with time, effort, and a little bit of elbow grease, we really can achieve wonders!" Donut was saying in his usual cheery tone. "Why, this war-zone looks like it could blow anyone—"

"Donut—" Grif began.

"—away!"

"Oh, thank God," Grif said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Still, did he have to phrase it that way?" Tucker muttered.

"Well, he does have a point," Washington interrupted, to alert the men of their return.

The soldiers paused their conversation for a moment, and Tucker turned to face his teammates with a smile. "Wow, matching armor? Did something happen in the base that you're not telling us?"

Dallas eyed Washington. "Well...we figured that an armor change would benefit the both of us."

"...Seriously, though, did you two bang in there? I mean, if you did, then hey, I won't judge. I mean, we've been in this canyon for weeks, and sometimes your hand just doesn't get the job done—"

"Tucker, please stop," Washington interrupted.

"We had a conversation," Dallas said. "The additions to my armor were a spur-of-the-moment idea. Though I must admit, I do appreciate Agent Washington for tossin' out the idea in the first place."

"Hey, the color suits you," Tucker agreed, his eyes scanning the other's armor. "Kinda reminds me of the color of Church's old armor."

"Except he is Dallas, not Church!" Caboose said matter-of-factly, his helmet visor now fixed. "Church is blue! Dallas is now black-and-blue! I learned my colors!"

Dallas noticed the immediate change in Tucker's posture as Caboose spoke, his body language giving off a feeling of uneasiness. Dallas had a feeling that their earlier conversations relating to the Alpha and Tucker's little Freudian slip by the communications tower were key factors in his behavior.

"Well, yeah, of course he's Dallas!" Tucker said defensively, arms folded. "I mean, what kind of idiot would confuse the two of them? That's...that's dumb."

"Perhaps someone who might still be learnin' the difference between us might slip up on occasion, but it has nothin' to do with their levels of intelligence?" Dallas gave Tucker a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Levels of intelligence, might I add, are higher than the person realizes, despite the abundance of genitalia jokes they happen to make on a regular basis."

"What kind of nerd says 'genitalia' instead of dick?" Tucker teased, the gratitude in his voice prominent as he gave his teammate a nudge.

"All jokes aside, the canyon looks great." Washington cast a glance around at their preparations. "Between the land mines, Freckles, and the tank, I'd say we can handle anything that comes our way."

"...Do you guys hear something?"

Grif's question was followed by a missile that whizzed over their heads and collided with the side of Blue Base, the explosion leaving a sizable hole in the ship's rusted metal. Another explosion echoed throughout the canyon. This time the sound of Sarge's voice immediately followed:

"Run for your lives!"

"Shit, are they here already?!" Grif asked frantically.

"It can't be them! Locus wouldn't just attack like this!" Felix said.

"Who else on this planet wants to kill us?!" Tucker exclaimed.

"¡Ejecutar, idiota, corre! [Run, idiot, run!]"

Dos.0's voice, followed by yet another missile, answered this question, as Sarge bolted towards them from the Red's side of the canyon. "Cease fire, Dos.0! No mas!"

"Sarge, what's going on?!" Washington demanded to know.

"I have no idea!" The red soldier wheezed. "I was in the middle of fixin' up the giant robot we were buildin' to use to fight you Blues—"

"What?!" Tucker exclaimed, as Freckles proceeded to protect them from Dos.0's incoming attacks. "Why the fuck would you that? I thought we were all cool."

"He thought you were going to attack us with Freckles," Grif explained.

"I don't think, I know!" Sarge insisted. "And suddenly, Dos.0 was inside it and started attackin' me! Don't know what got into him..."

"¡Esto le enseñará a no llamarme estúpido, Sargento! [This will teach you not to call me stupid, Sarge!]"

"Alright, everyone just remain calm," Washington ordered. "We don't have time for this-"

"Shit!"

Felix's outcry was immediately followed by his trademark light-shield, which materialized seconds before a bullet could whiz through his head. The group turned to see the familiar X-faced soldier before them, his eyes (as far as they could tell) locked on them as he reloaded his sniper rifle.

"Surrender now, and I only promise to kill the mercenary," Locus ordered calmly.

"You and what army, asshole?" Grif retorted.

"The Federal Army of Chorus."

As Locus responded, many soldiers began to uncloak behind him, their numbers far greater than the Reds and Blues combined.

"Damn it! Looks like that backup I called for earlier isn't getting here in time..." Felix muttered crossly. "Wash, if your men don't fight, then none of them will make it out of this canyon alive."

"Wash?" Tucker asked hesitantly. "What should we do?"

Washington was unresponsive for a moment, before he fired off a shot, which hit one of Locus's men in the head. "Everyone! Get to cover! Tucker, protect Dallas. He still hasn't perfected his aim, and if he's left alone, they'll take him out within seconds."

"Got it!" Tucker said.

Dallas had no issues with this order, for he knew that the Freelancer's statement was accurate. The two ducked behind a rock as Locus's men began their attack, while Freckles continued to battle the now-rogue Dos.0. Even after taking an excess number of missiles to the 'chest', Freckles remained steadfast as he protected the simulation troopers.

"At least we finally got some action, huh, Dallas?" Tucker yelled over the sound of gunfire that rang throughout the canyon.

"Well, I suppose it is a change of pace from our usual daily routines," Dallas replied, as the Reds proceeded to counter-attack.

A counter-attack that consisted of an excess amount of guns, shitty banter, and a series of small, block-shaped objects that could teleport objects and persons to another location ("Future cubes! The cubes of the future!" Donut explained). Unfortunately, their weapons and futuristic items could only do so much damage to the enemy soldiers, whose numbers failed to dwindle no matter how many the Reds and Blues took out. And armor enhancements that mirrored Locus's only made their situation more difficult.

"Freckles! We need help!" Washington ordered frantically.

"He's still fighting Dos.0!" Simmons told him, as Freckles took another blow from the other robot's attacks. "And I don't think he's winning..."

"SHIELDS CRITICAL."

Freckles' sparking circuitry emphasized Simmons's point, and it was clear that, without assistance, he would not last much longer.

"¡Deberías haber sumado mí, Pecas! [You should have joined me, Freckles!]" Dos.0 monologued, and aimed another missile at the mechanical pet. "Estos seres humanos no nos respetan. [These humans do not respect us.] Podríamos haber gobernado sobre ellos como jefes supremos de robots. [We could have ruled over them as Robot Overlords.] Pero ahora... serás destruido. [But now ... you will be destroyed.]"

"I've got this," Donut said, a future-cube tightly clutched in his hand as he hurried towards the robotic conflict.

"Where is he going?" Tucker asked. "We need help here!"

Dallas watched as the pink (or 'lightish red') soldier approached the robotic opponents and, after he uttered a series of one-liners in broken Spanish that Dallas could not make out over the sounds of the gunshots, Donut slammed the future-cube down at Dos.0's feet.

"Hijo de— [Son of a—]"

A flash of light and the robot was gone, with only the small, orange cube left in its place. Donut coolly scooped up the remaining object and chucked it towards the mind field on the opposite end of the canyon, and the sound of distant explosions mixed with the sound of gunfire as the second Lopez met his fate.

"Man, he's got an incredible arm on him," Tucker muttered in awe.

"But Freckles is still crispy!" Caboose gestured to his metal friend. "I think he needs a nap..."

"Hook him up to the ship! There's plenty of power!" Tucker pointed out.

"I can do that! Make sure I'm covered!"

Simmons hurried back towards the safety of Blue Base while the rest of Red Team occupied themselves with hurling as many teleportation cubes at the rival soldiers as they could. Dallas attempted to take down a group of soldiers with his rifle, but Washington's previous statement about his aim proved accurate, and he would have wound up with a bullet in his head if Tucker had slower reflexes.

"Dallas, just let Tucker do the shooting!" Washington ordered, as Dallas ducked for cover again. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

"We just have to hold out for a little longer! Backup should be on their way!" Felix informed him.

"'A little longer' might not be an option if more guys keep showing up, Felix!" Washington said, as he took out an approaching soldier. "Simmons, hurry up and connect Freckles to the ship!"

"Uh...that might be an issue, Wash!" Simmons responded from the base.

"What do you mean 'an issue?!'" The Freelancer squeaked impatiently. "What's the problem?!"

"Well, I hooked him up, but he's not getting enough power. It's all being diverted somewhere else!"

"Where?!"

"Red base!"

"Uh oh..." Donut had rejoined the group. "I...think I might know what's draining the power. See, uh...Caboose sent me a picture of Freckles over Basebook and it was taking forever to download-"

"Downloading a picture ON BASEBOOK is draining our entire power supply?!" Washington asked angrily.

"It was a very high-quality picture!" Donut said defensively.

"We need to cut the computer's power," Dallas said. "Someone will need to make their way to Red Base and shut it down manually."

"But who's going to-"

Donut's sentence was cut off as one of Locus's grenades landed an inch from him, and his body was hurled several yards from the impact of the explosion. He hit the ground like a limp ragdoll and Washington and Simmons hurried to assist the injured teammate.

Momentarily distracted by the explosion, Dallas only then realized that Tucker was pushing him forward. "Come on, let's hurry to Red Base."

"Us?"

"Everyone else is distracted and we need help now," Tucker said. "Don't worry about getting shot, I've got your back."

Convinced, Dallas dashed towards the distant Red Base with him, despite Washington's attempts to call them back. True to his word, Tucker protected him from behind (at this thought, Dallas could hear Tucker uttering his ridiculous catchphrase in his head) as they made their way across the canyon.

They reached their destination without issue, and headed inside the abandoned base. The guilty computer stood alone on a desk near the entrance, the supposed high-quality photo of Caboose's robotic pet now at sixty-eight percent.

"Alright, Tucker, let's shut this down," Dallas said.

Tucker made a disappointed noise. "Man, it was SO close to sixty-nine..."

"You'll live. Shut the computer down," Dallas repeated.

"Fine, fine..."

With a flick of his wrist, Tucker's trademark sword appeared and he slashed the screen with ease. "Fuck you, Basebook!"

"Well, I suppose that's one way to turn a computer off," Dallas said, with slight amusement.

"Freeze!"

Dallas and Tucker turned at the sound of a third voice in the base, and came face-to-face with the barrel of a Federal soldier's rifle. "You and your friends have caused us a lot of trouble! Now drop your weapons-"

A bullet to the head silenced the man before he could finish his sentence, and his body crumpled to the ground. Both men turned again, this time to the left where the source of the bullet was, and were greeted by a familiar figure in brown armor.

"Hola. [Hello]."

"Dos.0?" Tucker asked.

"No, idiota, [No, dumbass," Lopez said, hands on his hips. "Soy López la pesada! [I'm Lopez the Heavy!]"

"Lopez! Thanks for your help, dude!" Tucker said gratefully.

"But where on Earth did he get that robotic body?" Dallas wondered aloud. "I could have sworn he was only a head the last time we saw him."

"Tomé esta lejos de un tirón molesto. [I took it from an annoying moron,]" Lopez explained, his tone thick with annoyance.

"I have no idea what you said, but hey, thanks again!" Tucker said, and turned to Dallas. "Now, come on, let's get back to the others."

Dallas nodded in agreement, and the two of them darted out of Red Base with the robot on their heels. From a distance, they could see that they had accomplished their task, for Freckles had already began to fight back with the power he had regained. But even with his still-rising power levels, his movements were stiff, and his body sparked and jolted if he moved too carelessly.

"You think Wash and the others are holding up alright over there?" Tucker asked as they hurried along.

"I hope so. Now that Freckles has access to power, hopefully we'll be able to hold out until Felix's backup arrives-"

"DUCK!"

Tucker suddenly (and rather forcefully) yanked Dallas down behind the nearest boulder, mere seconds before Lopez was taken out by two snipers on the edge of the canyon's cliff.

"Hijo de puta! Acabo de recibir este maldito cuerpo! [Son of a bitch! I just got this fucking body!]" Lopez said angrily, his body now limp and immobile.

After making sure the two of them were out of the snipers' ranges from their stop, Tucker stood up and brushed himself off before he offered a hand to his grounded teammate. "Are you alright, man?"

Dallas gratefully took Tucker's hand and rose to his feet. "Well, I didn't appreciate bein' manhandled, but I'll survive."

The two of them cautiously peered out from behind the rock, ready to duck back behind their cover if the snipers tried to attack again. From their spot, they could see Washington and the others as they still attempted to keep the Feds' attacks at bay.

And then they saw Washington's body collapse to the ground from a shot out of nowhere, as still as Donut's or Lopez's had been.

"Wash!"

"Washington!"

Dallas’s entire body went rigid with shock as he stared at Washington's unmoving form. He barely had time to even process what he had seen before Sarge was also taken out by an invisible source. Even at a distance, he could hear Simmons cry out in distress as he rushed to assist him, and his body began to tremble as panic began to overtake him. He should have learned how to aim properly, he should have taken Washington's training more seriously, he could have done ANYTHING else to help them, he-

"Dallas, Dallas, come on, man, you gotta stay with me!" Tucker gently shook his teammate in an attempt to snap him back to reality. "They might still be alive, but we'll need to hurry up and get back over there if we want to help! Okay? Do you understand?"

"Help...yes," Dallas shook his head. "Right, you're right."

After another quick peek out from behind the rock, the two of them continued on towards Blue Base while they dodged incoming bullets from their 'friends' on the cliffs. Dallas could see a group of new soldiers filing out from the surrounding caves to join the fray, their armor a light-tan with green accents. And based on how many Federal soldiers they took out, it was not difficult for Dallas to draw the conclusion that the backup Felix called had finally arrived.

"Go! Go! Get to the cave!"

Dallas now noticed that Grif, Simmons, and Caboose were hurrying towards the two of them, with Felix on their tails. "Guys, we're leaving now! Go through the cave behind you!"

"What? What about Wash?!" Tucker asked frantically. "We saw him get shot!"

"He's still at the base!" Simmons responded.

"You're not suggestin' we leave him behind, are you?!" Dallas asked in disbelief.

Felix began to push the two of them along. "We need to leave NOW, or they'll only follow us back to the New Republic! Go!"

"Felix, we can't leave!" Tucker tried to say. "We have to help!"

"If we stay here, we'll just get picked off one by one," Felix pointed out. "If we leave now, then at least some of us will have made it out of the canyon!"

 _Some of us will have made it out of the canyon..._ Dallas felt a chill run up his spine at Felix's words. "Tucker is right, we can't just leave them!"

Despite their protests, Felix managed to escort them as far as the caves before Tucker pointed back at the base. "Look, Wash is getting up!"

Dallas exhaled heavily as his eyes landed on the stirring Freelancer, his heartbeat slowing back to his original pace as Washington rose to his feet.

_He was still alive...He was alright..._

"Wash! Come on!" Tucker called to him with a wide gesture.

"We gotta seal this tunnel, guys! Come on!" Felix urged.

Dallas opened his mouth to call out to Washington, but felt his words die in his throat as he watched Washington shift his gaze towards them, and then over to Freckles, who continued to loyally defend his men, despite how close he was to his robotic demise. A few wheels clicked in Dallas's head and his voice returned for one word only out of sheer panic and fear when he realized what Agent Washington was about to say:

"WASHINGTON—"

"FRECKLES, SHAKE!"

Obediently, the mantis brought his foot down in a heavy stomp. The canyon rumbled violently from the motion, and Dallas fell backwards to the ground as the entrance to the tunnel caved in before them. Dallas didn't see Tucker get knocked out by one of the falling rocks behind him, nor did he feel Felix's hand pulling on his shoulder as he attempted to pull them out of the cave to safety.

All he could see in his disassociated state, as they were loaded into a vehicle and hurried away from the canyon as quickly as possible, was the Freelancer's broken, lifeless body laid to rest in an unmarked grave beside the other Freelancers. Beside anyone else he had indirectly killed.

Right beside Allison.


	16. Part 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much calmer (and smaller) chapter after the last one. And hey, I reached the end of season 11! Man, still got a season to go, but I’m so happy TDOPFLID’s gotten this far!

Dallas had little memory of their trip to the New Republic.

He paid little attention when he was introduced to the general, though her name managed to stick in his mind: Vanessa Kimball. But that was all he learned about her before he requested to join Tucker in the infirmary.

Felix had assured him that his teammate’s head injury would not cause any lasting damage, yet Dallas insisted on taking refuge in the folding chair beside Tucker’s hospital cot, cradling his head in his hands.

He could have helped Agent Washington… He could have hurried back out into the canyon, or convinced Felix to stay behind and dig the tunnel back out! Just… anything!

But now he had another Freelancer’s blood on his hands, and he could feel himself slipping back into the depressed state that had nearly forced him to take his own life, and would have succeeded in doing so had it not been for Carolina’s mercy. After the talk with Washington, after all the time he spent in the canyon with the Blues, and after giving himself a new identity, he thought he might have had a chance to finally escape that feeling of hopelessness.

But he should have known better.

“Is he awake yet?”

Dallas lifted his head at the sound of Felix’s voice. The mercenary was joined by a medic, who approached the teal soldier’s cot.

“No, he’s still out cold.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You holding up okay?”

Dallas sighed heavily. “What do you think?”

Felix shrugged. “Dunno. I barely know you. For all I know, this could be your usual behavior.”

“Well, I was just forced to leave my captain behind, along with several of my acquaintances,” Dallas said, his tone suddenly hostile. “And now I’m waitin’ beside my teammate’s hospital bed, as I wait for him to regain consciousness. But other than that, I suppose I’m rather peachy. Thanks for asking.”

Felix held up his hands defensively. “Woah, hey, no need to get pissy.”

Dallas stood up from his chair so quickly, it slid back with a loud scrape against the cold floor. “Well, perhaps I wouldn’t be so ‘pissy’ if the events I stated previously hadn’t transpired they way they did!”

Before Felix could respond, Tucker groaned, interrupting their conversation and the medic carefully eased Tucker up into a sitting position.

“Easy now, Tucker,” Felix said. “You’ll be alright, but you gotta relax.”

“Wait…where am I?” Tucker asked, as his fingertips gingerly touched the bruise on the back of his skull. “What happened?”

“You took a rock to the back of the head,” Felix explained. “But luckily we made it back to the New Republic without issue.”

Dallas made a skeptical noise as the medic examined Tucker, who seemed uncomfortable with being poked and prodded by a stranger. “Dallas, what the fuck is going on? Where’s everyone else?”

“Simmons mentioned somethin’ about waitin’ in the main compound with Grif and Caboose the last time he was here,” Dallas answered. “As for everyone else…”

Tucker waited for him to continue. “Yeah, what about them?”

“You want to tell him, Felix?” Dallas asked.

The medic froze, and proceeded to nervously back towards the exit. “You know, I think I’m gonna go…There’s clearly some tension here, and maybe it’s best I don’t get involved…”

Felix shook his head, as the three of them were left alone to converse. “Look, Tucker, the Feds were closing in and we didn’t have much time—”

“—Felix thought it’d be a brilliant idea to leave them behind.” Dallas didn’t bother to mask the bitterness in his voice.

“What?!” Tucker asked in disbelief.

“We had no other choice, Tucker!” Felix tried to explain. “If we didn’t leave, the Feds would have followed us back!”

“That’s bullshit!” Tucker exclaimed. “We could have done SOMETHING to help them!”

“Thank you, Tucker. At least ONE of you has the smallest ounce of common sense left,” Dallas said, arms crossed tightly.

“Sorry, guys, but that’s war,” Felix responded bluntly. “Not everyone makes it back alright, and sometimes you have to let people go in order to stay alive long enough to win.”

Dallas felt his chest tighten at the mercenary’s painfully accurate statement, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to let his mind drift back to the last time he had lost someone to war. “I would have rather stayed and fought for the people I care about, rather than just leave them to die! And for the record, we never wanted to get involved in your war in the first place!”

“Hey, I tried to warn you guys that shit would get ugly,” Felix pointed out. “And I know all of you just wanted a ride off the planet. But sometimes things don’t go according to plan, and now you’re here. Alive, might I add, thanks to the backup I called.”

“Yes, and we’re incredibly relieved.”

Upon hearing an unfamiliar woman’s voice, Tucker turned his head towards the doorway. Dallas recognized Kimball’s blue-and-tan armor right away, despite his condition during their first encounter.

“The name’s Vanessa Kimball,” she informed Tucker. “Leader of the New Republic.”

“Uh…Tucker,” he replied.

“Yes, I know. It’s very nice to meet you, though I do wish it was under better circumstances.” She focused her attention to the man beside the hospital cot. “I see you’re in better spirits, Dallas.”

“That’s not necessarily the term I would use to describe my mood, General Kimball,” he responded in a low voice. “Though I will admit that I am in a much better state than I was previously.”

“Well, if the two of you are well enough to leave the infirmary, then I suggest you join your friends at the mess hall. We have plenty of time to talk later.”

“Yeah, alright…Come on, Dallas.”

By the tone of Tucker’s voice, Dallas could tell that he had plenty of other questions to ask the general, but knew he would receive no answers at the moment. So the two of them exited the infirmary as instructed and plodded along towards their friends’ location, while a pregnant silence hung in the air between them.

Tucker was the first to break the silence. “So…are you okay?”

Dallas found himself less annoyed by Tucker’s question than he’d been when Felix had asked, though he decided to counter with one of his own. “Are YOU?”

His teammate let out a hollow chuckle. “Can I get back to you on that when I know for sure?”

“Only if I am allowed to do the same…”

“…Yeah, alright…”

Dallas gave Tucker a gentle pat on the shoulder as they walked, in an attempt to lift not only Tucker’s spirits, but his own. It did little for himself, but he heard Tucker mutter a soft “Thanks…” under his breath as they continued on.

Eventually, they spotted the mess hall, with three familiar shapes of blue, orange, and maroon settled outside. As they got closer, they could hear Grif’s fervent complaints as he pounded on the doors to the building:

“Grif, they’re not gonna let you back in!”

“I am a paying customer, Simmons! It’s my right!”

“You would have eaten everything in the buffet if they hadn’t kicked you out!”

“I am an emotional eater!”

Simmons folded his arms and huffed in annoyance as Dallas and Tucker approached the group. Caboose let out a soft gasp of joy upon seeing his teammates and hurried to give them both a hug. “I am so happy to see both of you out of the doctors office! Did you get your lollipops?”

Dallas awkwardly gave the blue soldier a hug in return. “A medic and a doctor aren’t necessarily the same thing, Caboose. He was more along the lines of your purple friend, Do-”

“Grif! Stop trying to climb in through the window!” Simmons’ outcry interrupted, and he hurried to stop his teammate’s latest attempt to enter the building.

Dallas felt a twinge of pain for the two of them as Grif fell from the window and ended up sprawled across the hard ground and Simmons buried his face in his hands. While he and his teammates were likely in the same boat on the topic of losing Agent Washington, he could only imagine how the red couple felt after being separated from their entire team.

“So, uh…where are we anyway?” Tucker asked, as he took in their surroundings. “Looks kinda like a cave.”

“It IS a cave,” Simmons said, as the red soldiers rejoined the group. “I think it’s beneath one of their jungles.”

“I still think they should have chosen some kind of cool snow base,” Grif grumbled.

“This isn’t fucking Frozen or Star Wars, Grif,” Simmons retorted. “They probably didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.”

“Oh, come on, you’re telling me this isn’t like Star Wars? I mean, you got the side that’s like the evil Empire. And then you got Tucker, the guy with the glowing sword…”

“Are we really all that made it?”

Tucker’s question interrupted their little lovers quarrel, and the group’s mood turned south once more. Even Caboose had gone silent, his head down and shoulders heavy.

“Hey.”

All heads immediately turned upwards at the sound of Felix’s voice, who was perched above them on the edge of a boulder. “Something’s come up, and Kimball told me to come get you.”

“What is it?” Dallas asked.

Felix gestured for the soldiers to follow, and they obediently began to follow him through the underground war zone. Every so often, they would pass by a group of Rebel soldiers, and they would nudge each other and point excitedly at the five of them.

Dallas wasn’t sure how to feel about the gawking and scattered murmurs of awe as they approached their destination. The last thing he needed at the moment was to be admired or idolized by young, impressionable soldiers.

——————

“Michael Caboose, Dexter Grif, Lavernius Tucker, Richard Simmons, and…” Kimball’s eyes landed on the black-and-blue soldier. “I apologize, Dallas, but do you have a last name? Or…a first name?”

“It’s just Dallas.”

The general gave a nod and continued her speech. “Dallas. The five of you have traveled great distances, recovered ancient artifacts, brought corrupt men and dangerous war criminals to justice—” Dallas grew tense at this statement. “—and it seems that fate has brought you to the New Republic.”

“You could call it fate. Or you could call it 'some guy with a fucking x-box symbol on his face attacked us and forced us into a war that we didn’t want to fight.’” Tucker muttered.

“I’ve been made aware of your situation, and I am sorry that you got dragged into our fight like this. However, we might have some good news about your friends.”

“Good news?” Simmons asked.

“We’ve received a report that they are still alive, but the Federal Army has them in captivity.”

“Alive?” Dallas felt his voice crack as he processed that word. Washington was alive… He could still help him. Things didn’t have to play out like they had during Project Freelancer.

He could actually save someone for once in his life.

“Yes, Dallas, they’re alive,” Kimball repeated. “Which means they can be rescued. But, it also means something else.”

“What do you mean by 'something else?’” Tucker inquired.

“Well, to put it nicely, I’m willing to make you a promise. If you can help us put a stop to this war, we’ll help you rescue your friends. And once it’s all over, we’ll even let you take our best ship and fly as far away from this planet as possible. I know it’s not the best offer in the world, but it’s the only one we can give you.”

“Look, lady, I don’t know what you think we can do, but I’m telling you right now that we probably can’t,” Grif said.

“This war has gone on for so long,” Kimball went on. “We’ve lost so many soldiers, and the ones remaining are young and inexperienced and completely misguided. But you men…you give them all hope. You give them the motivation to keep fighting, and the optimism that they will succeed. They will follow your orders, and look to you for guidance. If you choose to lead them.”

“General Kimball, I cannot speak for everyone here, but I must inform you that I am not fit to lead such individuals,” Dallas said. “Trust me when I say that I have a less-than-impressive reputation when it comes to this sort of thing.”

“The rest of us don’t really have any experience with leading, either,” Tucker added.

“Well, a lot of the soldiers here have little experience with fighting,” Kimball explained. “And without your help… its very likely they won’t get a chance to actually learn how.”

The men exchanged unsure glances, and Dallas knew Tucker had locked eyes with him through their visors. He knew he would regret this decision, and the thought of commanding a new group of soldiers after what had happened during Project Freelancer terrified him to the core. But he was not about to turn and hide when he had the option to keep the people he cared about alive.

If he had the option to do something good for the first time in his life, he was willing to unleash Hell in order to do it.

He gave Tucker a nod, who turned to face the general. “Alright, let’s run some drills!”


	17. Part 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And into season 12 we go! Also, we finally get introduced to Dallas’s team and…they’re OCs. Yeah, I…really didn’t have much of an option there. But hey, meet Lieutenant Jack Sinclair (awakeonprospit's OC) and Lieutenant Keith Michaels. Hope you all like them!

The events that unfolded over the next several days were...interesting, to say the least.

Dallas had been promoted to Captain and assigned a team of his own, the same as Tucker and the others. Kimball had granted his request for a smaller team, and had not pressed further past his explanation of: "As I informed you before, I have had my issues with takin' charge in the past and I am not comfortable with leadin' more than a select few soldiers at a time."

Grif had two young men on his team that reminded Dallas of younger versions of Grif and Simmons, and their relationships with Grif reminded him of the interactions he had witnessed between Red Team and Sarge. Simmons's team consisted of several young women that he could barely hold a conversation with, which made Dallas wonder why Kimball had assigned him to lead them in the first place.

Tucker was in charge of an assorted group of young men, but Palomo could have been mistaken for the turquoise soldier's son if one didn't know any better. Dallas had little time to interact with Caboose's team, but he did learn about one young man by the name of Smith, who praised nearly all of his leader's ideas without hesitation.

Despite a few kinks here and there, his fellow captains seemed appropriately assigned to each of their teams.

But when Kimball had informed them that the soldiers were young and inexperienced, she hadn't been lying. She had also forgotten to mention just HOW young they all happened to be. The majority of them couldn't have been over the age of thirty, and Dallas was positive a few of them hadn't even celebrated their twenty-fifth birthday yet. And their ages definitely showed during the training practices that Kimball put them through.

And speaking of Kimball and her training...

"What the Hell was that?!"

Dallas let out a heavy sigh as the general approached the group of captains. Or, at the very least, Dallas and the red soldiers. Tucker and his team had been assigned to a bigger task with Felix, and Caboose had distracted himself with racing around in a frantic circle while the alarm signaling the end of the exercise blared around them.

"What is the point of these training exercises if you can't work as a team?" Kimball asked. "You were organized, you had a plan, but you crumbled under the pressure!"

"We are doin' the best we can, General Kimball," Dallas informed her. "Unfortunately, we often have conflictin' tactics and ideas for what we believe will accomplish the task at hand."

"Yeah, I mean, we already told you that we suck," Grif pointed out, which earned him a bothered glare from Dallas. "Why are you surprised now?"

"You don't suck, you just..." Kimball let her sentence trail off with an exasperated sigh. "Lieutenants, debrief with your commanding officers. That's enough group training for the day."

Dallas watched as the general left the teams to their business, and turned his attention to his approaching team. "Alright, you two. That was a good try today. But Michaels, the next time I ask you to move your position, I would appreciate it if you would do just that."

"I'm sorry, sir!" The young man stammered, as he rubbed his hands together in a skittish fashion. "I tried to follow your orders, but Captain Simmons was telling me to go one place while Captain Caboose was saying another and Captain Grif was saying something about the color orange and—"

"It's alright, there’s no sense in worryin’ about it now," Dallas assured him. "We can work on that later."

"Why is Captain Grif so obsessed with the name of his team anyway?" another lieutenant, a young woman, piped up. "Who cares whether he's gold or orange or what-the-fuck-ever? He just looks like a big blob to me anyway..."

"He has his reasons, Sinclair," Dallas explained with a tired sigh. "However, I do wish he wouldn't let his own pet peeves affect his decisions on the battlefield. But I suppose that's an issue that will be solved another day."

"Oh, um, sir?" Michaels asked nervously. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Michaels."

"Did, uh...did you and the others really fight the Meta?" He sounded like a young child who was face-to-face with his idol and allowed to ask him any question his heart desired.

"Yeah, I was wondering about that, too!" Sinclair added. "Captain Grif was talking about it earlier. Something about the guy being, like, part-bear or whatever. Though...I'm not sure if he meant, like, the animal or if he was a guy Keith would be into—"

Dallas cleared his throat and Sinclair immediately silenced herself. "Well, while it is true that the Reds and Blues defeated the Meta, I will admit that I accompanied their group a long while after that particular battle."

"Oh! Well, um, did you help them fight anyone else?" Michaels asked, as the three of them began to make their way back towards the bases.

"I apologize, Michaels, but I was sadly left out of the majority of the thrillin' adventures that my fellow captains had experienced," Dallas said. "But even if the chance to join their adventures had been granted to me earlier, I must admit that my age would likely prevent me from receivin' the full experience, so to speak."

"That's why I've started working out now," Sinclair explained. "I wanna be fit as fuck when I'm pushing ninety. Oh, not that I think you're ninety or anything, Captain Dallas!"

"I think you're already pretty fit, Jack," Michaels complimented her fondly, before turning his attention back to their captain. "May I ask another question, sir?"

Goodness, this young man was curious! Not that Dallas minded in the slightest. "Yes, you may ask me any question. Provided it is nothing to inappropriate or perverse."

Sinclair muttered a disappointed "Damn it!" as Michaels spoke again: "If you joined the others after they fought the Meta, what were you doing before that?"

Dallas actually froze in place for a moment upon hearing Michaels's question, and the young soldiers followed suit, confused as to why they had stopped. "Sir?"

"Well, uh, that is a rather complicated question to answer." Dallas began to walk again as he spoke. "I was...not in the best place before I accompanied the teams on their journey. I spent a long time working alongside many skilled men and women in the field of battle.'

"More soldiers?" It was Sinclair's turn to ask a question.

"Yes. Some of the best you could ever hope to find," He said wistfully. "But fate can be unforgivin' at times, and the majority of them sadly lost their lives over the years."

"You lost all your teammates?" Michaels asked, his voice soft.

"Perhaps 'teammates' is an inaccurate term in this situation," Dallas said. "We shared a complicated relationship, and I will not deny that many of them possessed a fair amount of hostility towards me."

"Why?"

"Now that's a story for another day." Dallas ceased his walking again, and the two young lieutenants now realized that they were a short distance from their quarters. "For the moment, you two are dismissed until our next trainin' session."

"Yes, sir!" The two saluted in unison, before they hurried through the entrance to the metal building.

Dallas could hear the two of them still conversing in hushed tones as they headed inside ("Hey, Keith, which Captain do you think is probably the cutest out of their armor?" "Jack, they're our superiors!" "My money's on Captain Tucker." "...Okay, yeah, he sounds pretty hot.") and his heart ached with pity for the young lieutenants as he began to make his way towards the mess hall.

He knew that reminiscing over memories of the Freelancers would always result in an unbearable amount of guilt on his end, but he had hoped that his ability to cope with these memories would grow stronger as time passed. Hell, without Agent Washington breathing down his neck here, he thought that accomplishing that task would be simpler than ever (though he hated to think of such things, especially since he and Washington had finally reached some form of truce before the separation).

But it was hard to repress certain feelings and memories when he was in charge of naive, young soldiers with an endless supply of questions about his life story, and the possibility of bright futures ahead of them after this war. A possibility that he had denied his Freelancers when he valued his own desires over their well-being.

His mind drifted from the subject of the Freelancers to Carolina, and that didn't help the ache in his chest. It had been a while since he thought about her, probably since the conversation with Tucker by the communications tower. He wondered what her and Epsilon were up to now, and if they had received news about the civil war that troubled the planet.

He knew for a fact that they were both still alive. Carolina was...God, she was extraordinary. She could probably destroy anything that got in her way on this planet, and her mother would have been so goddamn proud of how far she had come.

Dallas ignored the nagging additional thought of "But you kept her from being so much more" and let his mind drift to Epsilon. He wasn't exactly the youngest A.I. in existence, but he could still hold his own. If he kept that nasty temper of his in check, anyway.

He forced a chuckle at the hypocritical idea of scolding Epsilon over his uncontrollable emotions. He could hear Agent Washington's "Like AI, like creator" comment replaying in his head as he finally stepped into the mess hall.

He was not surprised to see Grif already seated at a table, but he was surprised to see so little food on Grif's plate. The mess hall must have limited the amount of food he had been allowed to consume per meal. Not surprisingly, Simmons was beside him as he ate his own meal, and Caboose occupied the seat across the table. Upon spotting his teammate, the Blue soldier flailed his arm wildly to indicate that Dallas should sit with them.

Which, after fetching his own tray of food, he did.

"I swear, Simmons. Matthews is an even bigger kissass than you are," Grif was saying as Dallas took a seat. "He offered to shine my shoes after training today! My shoes are part of my armor! How the fuck would he shine them?!"

"At least you can talk to your team!" Simmons responded. "Why would Kimball give me a team with nothing but women? I can barely give them orders without freezing up."

"Dude, you need to get over that fear of yours," Grif responded, as he shoved a piece of bread into his mouth. "They're girls, not sharks."

"What if they're, like...half-woman, half-shark, or something?" Simmons pointed out. "Like Carolina?"

"Beg pardon?" Dallas's attention was suddenly focused on their conversation.

"Oh, yeah, a while ago, we said something about Carolina being half-shark, because she's fucking scary," Grif explained.

Dallas's jaw clenched at this description of Carolina, and he channeled his annoyance towards the red soldiers' assumptions through his fork, which he used to stab the unidentifiable lump of meat on his tray. "There is no such thing as a human/shark hybrid, Simmons. Not only is it unwise for one to attempt to mate with a shark, but even if some bizarre soul were to ever try, their...sexual activities would not result in reproduction."

Both of them had gone silent and were staring at Dallas with a look of both abhorrence and disturbed concern. "How...do you know that?" Grif asked.

"It doesn't take a genius to know that having sexual intercourse with a shark will not result in human-shark offspring, Grif," Dallas stated matter-of-factly. "But even if such an odd thing were possible, the shark genetics of the child would most likely not be a factor in their aggressive behavior, considerin' that sharks are generally very docile by nature. So if a woman were half-shark, that doesn't necessarily mean she would possess a temper. And even if she did, there is nothing wrong with that."

The men had once again ceased their conversation at Dallas's seemingly random outburst. Was he really that passionate about sharks?

"What about a man who looked like a shark?" Caboose suggested, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Like, he had half a human face and half a shark face? And his name was...Sharkface!"

"Oh, come on, Caboose," Simmons said skeptically. "Sharkface? That just sounds stupid. Obviously it'd be FaceShark."

"Can we please change the subject?" Dallas asked. "Perhaps to the topic of whether or not Tucker has returned from his training yet?"

"Haven't seen him yet," Grif said, letting his fork fall to the empty tray with a loud clatter.

"Don't do that."

All heads turned towards the door at the sound of a new voice, where Felix was leaning against the door-frame with his arms folded across his chest. "If you're finished eating, follow me. Kimball wants to talk to all of you."

"Where's Tucker?" Dallas stood up from the table, deciding to abandon his remaining meal.

"He's with her," Felix explained, as the others also rose to their feet. "Hurry, she said it was important."


	18. Part 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was surprisingly difficult to write, though I had a lot of fun with a scene in the middle. Poor Tucker, though. Also Felix is a fucking dickweed, but what else is new?

Dallas knew something was wrong with Tucker as soon as they entered Kimball's office. His head was low and his shoulders drooped, and his demeanor did not change even when he heard their footsteps against the metal floor.

"Tucker!" Caboose bounded over to his teammate, eager to greet him.

"Touch me and I'll shoot you."

"Perhaps you would prefer a nice groping instead?" Caboose offered. "I know you like that kind of thing."

"Back off, Caboose!" Tucker barked in a tone that sounded both aggressive and melancholy.

"Tucker, why do you look so downhearted?" Dallas asked, as Caboose obediently stepped back from their teammate.

"I can answer that question." Felix coolly strolled past the group and stood by the crestfallen Tucker, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Captain Tucker here decided to disobey his orders and ended up recovering a hard drive full of Federal Army secrets."

"Well, that's good, right?" Simmons asked. "It'll help us find the others quicker!"

"That wasn't the bad news," Dallas spoke up, his eyes still on Tucker. "Something else occurred on that mission, didn't it? You wouldn't have mentioned the fact that he disobeyed orders if it hadn't."

"Once again, nothing gets by dear old Dallas," Felix said smugly. "Tucker's disobedience and recklessness resulted in the death of two of his men."

"What?!" Dallas jerked his head in Tucker's direction so quickly, he nearly gave himself whiplash in the process.

"I didn't mean for that to happen..." Tucker said in a low voice. "But we were running out of time—"

"—and you took a risk," Felix finished for him. "A risk that cost us two soldiers."

Dallas saw Tucker shift uncomfortably as Felix ceased his speech for a moment, the temptation to pull Tucker away from the obnoxious mercenary growing stronger with every sentence. "I'm sure Tucker had his reasons for makin' the decisions that he did, and it will not accomplish anythin' to blame him for-"

"Blame him?! Hell, I was about to say he made the right choice!" Felix's disappointed attitude was gone, and he gave Tucker an approving slap on the back. "He was pulling a fucking James Bond in there, all 'Oh, I'm not gonna play by the rules and I'm gonna do whatever I have to in order to complete my mission!' and shit. It was fucking incredible!"

Felix's praise did nothing to improve Tucker's mood. "But, I thought you were mad at me?" Tucker said.

"Oh, make no mistake, Tucker. I was absolutely livid," Felix clarified. "In fact, I was seconds away from beating you to death with your own skull."

"I'm pretty sure that's not physically possible," Simmons said.

"Whatever. The point is: Tucker took a risk and it paid off."

"Paid off?! Two people DIED, Felix!" Tucker pointed out, his gloomy state momentarily gone.

"Yeah, and more will probably die tomorrow," Felix said with a shrug. "Like I said before, this is war. Sometimes people die, and all you can do is keep fighting so the rest survive. If you put all your energy into crying over fallen comrades, then you're eventually going to end up just like them—"

"Felix, that's quite enough."

Kimball finally interrupted the mercenary's ramblings and stepped forward. Dallas appreciated her interception in the conversation, for Felix's painfully blunt statements towards Tucker had made him clench his fists so tightly, his hands began to ache. He despised how unconcerned Felix was over the topic of losing men and women on the battlefield. How dare he stand there and act like soldiers were nothing but expendable tools who could easily be forgotten or replaced if they died?

"Tucker, you may have cost two men their lives, but you did grant us access to some valuable information. Now, whether or not you made the right decision is ultimately up to you," Kimball said, her tone much kinder than Felix's. "Which brings me to the next topic we need to discuss."

"Is this topic as depressing as the last one?" Grif asked. "Because if it is, I think I'll pass on listening."

Simmons nudged him. "Grif, shut up!"

"I think you'll want to hear this, Captain Grif," Kimball said, and paused for a moment before she continued. "I know where your friends are."

The soldiers began to express various responses of surprise and relief, but Kimball held up a hand to silence them. "I began to dig through the files that Tucker retrieved for us, and I found some stuff. Not much, but some."

"What did you find?" Dallas asked.

"Well, first off, your friends are constantly being moved around by the Feds," Kimball said. "Normally, this would mean that pinpointing their exact location would be near impossible. But according to the files, they're currently being held in one of the compounds just north of the nearby mountain range."

"They're that close?" Simmons asked hopefully.

"Yes, but unfortunately, they'll be transferred in about a week to the capital. And if that happens, then we might as well kiss any chance of rescuing them goodbye."

"So, we rescue them before that happens, right?" Grif asked.

Kimball shifted her attention to Felix, and the mercenary took this as a sign to pick up where she left off. "Well, the compound she's talking about is twice the size of the one Tucker and I raided, and about ten times more dangerous. Breaking in would be suicide. And breaking someone out would be like...I don't know, suicide and a bunch of dead puppies. Dead zombie puppies on fire."

"And how are you aware of this information?" Dallas asked.

"Because I've tried before. And spoiler alert: Only thing I managed to get out of there was a bullet in my shoulder."

"But were the puppies okay?" Caboose had to know.

"There were no actual puppies, Caboose," Dallas explained. "Felix was usin' a simile to emphasize his point."

"...Puppies make me simile," Caboose muttered in a small voice.

"Kimball, can you PLEASE talk some sense into them?" Felix asked.

The general sighed heavily. "When I heard the stories about the bold and daring Reds and Blues, I had an idea of what to expect when we finally met. Strong, daring, respectable soldiers who could take on anything that stood in their way."

"Let me guess: We didn't live up to your expectations?" Grif crossed his arms. "Big shocker."

"Well, I wouldn't say that." Kimball said. "You're not what I expected, but that itself isn't a bad thing. You're more along the lines of..."

"Idiots?" Grif suggested.

"Losers..." Tucker said bitterly.

"Cowards," Simmons had to add.

"Spacemen!" Caboose guessed excitedly, waving his hand around in the air.

"Misfits?" Dallas finished after the others had given their input.

"Thank you, Captain Dallas," Kimball said. "Misfits is the word I was looking for. A bunch of oddballs who don't fit in. Which is why the soldiers here all look up to you, and why our morale is higher than it's ever been. We're all a bunch of outcasts and underdogs here, whether we're high in the ranks or low. However...I'm afraid I cannot authorize a rescue mission this dangerous."

She paused, as the group hung their heads in disappointment. "However, I can cut you a deal. You all still need to work on leading your teams as individuals, so what I want you to do is to assemble a smaller team of lieutenants. One composed of the best men and women in your platoons. You'll have five days to prepare them, and once that time is up, I will decided whether or not you're ready for a mission to the compound."

"Five days isn't much time," Grif pointed out.

"Well, it's all you've got," Kimball stated firmly. "I'd suggest going and picking out your desired lieutenants as soon as possible, men. You'll need to start training right away if you want to meet the five-day deadline. You are dismissed."

With a collective groan, the group headed for the exit, Dallas immediately making a beeline for Tucker as they stepped outside. "We need to talk."

Tucker slouched against the side of the building. "Do we have to?"

Dallas sighed. "Tucker, look, I don't know what happened on that mission, aside from the information Felix gave us regarding it-"

"Yeah, and that's all that happened," Tucker interrupted quickly. "I fucked up and let people die. But hey, who cares when we can go rescue Wash and the others, right? Wonder how he'll feel when he finds out how we were able to rescue them because I was a reckless idiot?"

"Don't talk like that." Dallas said.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Tucker asked, his voice shaking. "I'm a reckless fucking idiot who can't think before he acts!"

"You made a choice, Tucker," Dallas said. "A choice that had both good and bad outcomes."

"I know, I KNOW!" Tucker tossed his arms in the aie. "'Whether or not I made the right decision is inevitably up to me!' Please don't remind me!"

"I'm just tryin' to help you," Dallas said calmly. "Because I could tell you were beatin' yourself up over it back there, and that Felix's ramblin' did nothin' to improve your emotional state."

"God, he's fucking annoying," Tucker muttered. "Kimball's not so bad, but she didn't exactly make me feel any better..."

"Then forget about what Kimball said," Dallas ordered. "Forget about what Felix said. How do YOU feel about the decision you made?"

"I...I don't know, okay?" Tucker hung his head again. "I just...don't know."

Dallas stared at him for a moment before he placed a gentle hand on his teammate's shoulder. "Tucker, I want you to listen to me, okay? I...Well, to state it bluntly, I am not a good person. You know this, Washington knew this, everyone knows this."

That got Tucker to raise his head slightly, so Dallas continued. "My actions have resulted in the death of more people than I can count, and the decisions I made were to further my own selfish agenda. It's hard for me to admit this, but I know it's true. But your mistake was made because you were tryin' to help not only yourself, but your friends and the people you care about."

"Yeah, but aren't we all doing this just to get Wash and the others back?" Tucker pointed out. "That's still pretty selfish, isn't it?"

"Fair point, I suppose," Dallas had to admit. "But what I am tryin' to say is that you made a mistake. People make mistakes, and one does not automatically make you a reprehensible person. Trust me, I WISH I made as few in my lifetime as you have in yours."

That managed to get a faint, halfhearted chuckle out of Tucker. "Well, let's be real here...I've made more than one mistake in my life...I mean, obviously, not MANY, being me and all, but come on."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do..." The amused tone faded from Tucker's voice. "Still...I feel pretty terrible about what happened..."

"And that's understandable, considerin' the circumstances. But it isn't wise to let that guilt control everythin' you do." The regret in Dallas's voice was painfully clear. "Trust me...it never leads to anythin' good."

"That's what I was telling him earlier."

Dallas nearly jumped at the sound of Felix's voice. The mercenary was holding some kind of alien rifle, most likely plasma, and was staring at the duo with an intrigued look. "I swear to God, anything I tell you guys goes in one ear and out the other."

"Perhaps if your methods of comfortin' weren't so tactless, your point would come across clearer and wouldn't bear repeatin'," Dallas said with a frown.

"Hey, I don't sugarcoat, old man. I tell it like it is," Felix responded. "But hey, maybe hearing it twice will make him twice as likely to remember it."

"Yeah, yeah..." Tucker's gaze was on the new weapon in Felix's hands. "What's that thing all about?"

"This? It's my cut for the mission we went on."

"Your cut?" Simmons asked. He and the others had approached the group when they saw Felix.

"You think these guys have any money lying around?" Felix examined the weapon with a fond expression. "This place is overflowing with ancient extraterrestrial artifacts, so it's what I'm paid in."

"That must be why the UNSC chose the planet for colonization," Dallas said thoughtfully.

"You got it," Felix said with a shrug. "Too bad they abandoned the place. But good news for me, I guess."

"So, why not just steal the alien tech instead of going on missions for them?" Tucker asked.

"Because none of it's useful in battle, smart guy," Felix explained. "It's all busted. But hey, someone out there's probably willing to pay a hefty sum for this kind of weaponry, functional or not. And speaking of which...if you guys are serious about rescuing your friends by the end of the week I could always be persuaded to increase my level of assistance."

Dallas raised an eyebrow. "And by persuasion, you mean—?"

"I want Tucker's energy sword."

"Hell no!" Tucker said defensively. "Besides, couldn't you give us some help... you know...free of charge?"

"I could, but since I plan on retiring with a television the size of a billboard, I think I'll pass."

"Well, that'll just be bad for your eyes!" Caboose piped up.

“And why, might I ask, are you refusin’ to help?” Dallas asked. “We would accomplish our goal quicker if you assisted us with our trainin’, and I’m sure our lieutenants would appreciate your guidance. You would be doin’ a lot of us a huge favor.”

“Oh, so you want me to help you train for free because it’ll be helpful?” Felix asked.

“It’d certainly be the right thing to do,” Dallas pointed out.

“The right thing to do?” Felix let out a chuckle. "Aw, that’s cute. You know, if I recall, the first time these people ever asked you for help, you turned them down. Said a civil war wasn't your problem. In fact, I bet, if your friends had never been captured, you would have still refused to assist them. Even if it was the 'right thing to do.'"

That silenced Tucker and Dallas for a moment, and the others merely shuffled their feet as Felix turned on his heels to leave. "Everyone has their price, guys. I learned that a long time ago...and you're no exception."

Tucker was the first one to break the silence with an irritable sigh and a glance at his teammate. "God, why does he have to go and turn everything good you said into something that only makes me feel even worse?"

"If it helps, you're not the only one in low spirits," Dallas muttered, eyes cast downwards as his feelings of exasperation towards Felix grew with every step he took away from their group.


	19. Part 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
>  
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We learn a little about Michaels and Sinclair in this chapter (which I am very excited about), and we get ‘introduced’ to the other lieutenants! Good, just what I needed, more characters talking. That’s gonna be fun later.

"I'm sorry, Michaels. But I've decided that Sinclair will be the soldier I train for this specific mission."

"I understand sir."

Michaels hung his head low, and he began to rub his hands together in a fashion that was now familiar to his captain as something he only did when he was upset or stressed. "Michaels, you're a dedicated soldier and I know that, despite bein' overwhelmed on the battlefield at times, you have the potential to do great things. But I chose Sinclair because, out of the two of you, she is currently more qualified for the task at hand."

"It's not that..." Michaels said softly, rubbing his hands together again.

"Then what's the matter?"

"Um...mmm..." Michaels made a series of small noises, as if he had an answer that he couldn't quite articulate.

"Keith, what's wrong?" Sinclair had finished donning her armor and had joined their conversation, immediately recognizing her friend's distressed body language. "Are you upset that you're not training with us?"

Michaels shook his head.

"Are you worried about me going?"

This time, Michaels nodded and reached out to take one of her hands.

"Hey, buddy, no need to worry about me," she assured him, squeezing his hand tight. "I'll be alright. Plus, you'll see me after training, so it's not like I'll be gone forever."

"But...when you finally go on the mission..." He mumbled.

"Hey, if any Feds try and mess with me, I'll crush their heads between my thighs like I did to that watermelon in high school!" she joked, hoping to lift her teammate's spirit. "And...a few times in college. And half an hour ago when Palomo bet me fifteen bucks..."

Her statement did manage to get a chuckle out of Michaels, and he gave his friend a big hug. "Still...be careful, okay?"

"You got it, Keith."

Dallas had watched this scene unfold, a horrible sense of deja-vu taking hold of him at the sight of the younger male hesitant to let someone he cared so dearly about leave for battle. "Michaels, I will do everythin' in my power to bring her back safe," he assured the young man, determined to stay true to his word.

"Thank you, Captain Dallas," Michaels said, finally letting go of the other lieutenant.

Sinclair gave his shoulder one last playful nudge and followed Dallas, as the two of them headed away from Michaels and towards the location Kimball had assigned for training. Dallas immediately noticed a change in Sinclair's posture as they moved further from Michaels. While her body language was usually very relaxed, she was now stiff and looked uneasy. "Sinclair, is everythin' alright?"

"I..." She seemed hesitant to answer. "Look, it's probably terrible of me to say, but I'm really glad you didn't choose Keith for this."

"Well, like I told him, you seemed more skilled for this kind of mission. It was nothing personal against his own abilities—"

"It's not that," she sighed. "Look, I love Keith to pieces. Guy's my best friend in the whole world, practically a little brother to me. But I just...don't like him being here. You know, battling and stuff."

"He is a very sweet young man, but he does give off the appearance of bein' out of his element here," Dallas admitted.

"A lot of us are," Sinclair said. "But some of us more than others. I've known Keith since high school, and he's the farthest thing from a fighter there is. You know what his favorite animal is? A rabbit. You know what rabbits do?"

"I am guessin' the answer isn't 'fight'," Dallas said.

"You're right! All they do is hop around, and look cute and fluffy!" Sinclair exclaimed. "I mean, sure, I guess bunnies COULD be intimidating if they wanted to be. Monty Python's a good example of that. And that one animated movie where the little bastards, like, killed each other and shit, which...was actually kind of awesome. But in Keith's case? He prefers the soft, cuddly ones that don't fight each other. He's practically a bunny himself! His hair's about as soft as one, anyway..."

Dallas couldn't help but notice that Sinclair had quite a way with words. "Well, if it's not too personal to ask, why would Michaels sign up to fight a war if conflict is somethin' he prefers to avoid?" He asked.

The young woman sighed. "Well, he was beyond freaked when he heard I had plans to join the war. I guess he figured that if he went with the other civilians and fled to safety when shit hit the fan, he'd spend all his time worrying about whether or not I was still alive."

"So he decided that it'd be best to accompany you into a situation that made him uncomfortable, but was still a better option than the two of you bein' separated?" Dallas guessed. "Pick the lesser of two evils?"

"You got it," Sinclair said. "But now I'M the one constantly worrying about HIM being here! Though, to be honest, I am KINDA glad he followed me, because I know I'd probably worry about him as much as he worries about me. But at the same time....Ugh, he's too pure for war! Too small. Too precious."

"It sounds like the two of you share a strong bond for one another and care deeply about each other's well-being," Dallas said.

"Yeah, well...like I said, he's my best friend in the whole fucking galaxy. In fact, without him and his mother's help, I wouldn't be who I am or where I am today." She gave a casual shrug, her posture growing less somber and returning to her usual chilled state. "But hey, I doubt you wanna hear about my tragic-ass backstory."

"I will listen if you wish to talk about it," Dallas said in an understanding voice.

She shook her head. "Sorry, Captain. Gotta be a level-five friend to unlock something that heavy."

"I beg your pardon?"

She snickered. "Nothing, never mind. God, you're old."

Dallas still seemed perplexed by her statement, though he was relieved to see the lieutenant in higher spirits than she had been previously. He wouldn't pressure her into sharing any information she preferred to keep to herself, though he would have liked to learn more about her and Michaels's relationship. Or anything else about them, really. He wouldn't deny the fact that he'd like to learn as much about his recruits as he could.

But now was not the time for that, for they had reached the training area, where most of the other groups had already gathered. Though Dallas easily noticed a lack of orange soldiers amongst the men and their lieutenants, and wasn't surprised when Simmons immediately approached him with a question:

"Did you see Grif on your way over?"

"No, we didn't. Has he still not chosen his desired lieutenant?" Dallas inquired.

"Hell if I know! He was supposed to be here ages ago! ...Speaking of which, the two of you aren't exactly on time, either."

"I apologize, Simmons," Dallas said. "Sinclair and I were havin' a conversation about rabbits on our way over."

Simmons looked as if he were about to question this, but simply shook his head. "God, if Grif doesn't get here soon—"

"Calm your cyborg-tits, I'm here." Grif said as he joined the group. "Would've been here sooner if Matthews didn't get all over-dramatic about me not picking him to train with me. The guy started crying and sobbing and begging for me to 'reconsider my choice.' But it's like I told Bitters on our way over—" Grif turned his head towards the lieutenant on his right. 

Bitters let out a sigh when he realized what his captain wanted from him. "'Nobody likes a kiss-ass?'"

"Nobody likes a kiss-ass!" Grif repeated for emphasis. "And Matthews is the textbook definition of a kiss-ass!"

" _Nobody_ likes a kiss-ass, you say?" Dallas asked. "That's funny, Grif, I wasn't aware you had changed your name to Odysseus since the last time we spoke."

"What does that mean?" Grif asked.

"It means you need it pick up a copy of _The Odyssey_ sometime," Dallas said. 

"Whatever, you're all late!" Simmons exclaimed. "This will cut into our introduction times!"

"Why do we need to introduce ourselves?" Grif asked, as they headed towards Caboose and Tucker, and the remaining lieutenants. "We know who we are."

"I was talking about the recruits!"

Dallas rolled his eyes at their 'bickering' as he gestured for Sinclair to join her fellow lieutenants, as the five of them lined up before a platform. He followed them up to the top, where his own teammates were waiting for him.

"Alright, newbies. Start stating your names," Tucker said, arms folded.

"Ooh, and tell us a fun fact about yourself!" Simmons added.

"Seriously?" Grif asked, giving him a look.

“It’s a good activity to make everyone more familiar with each other!” Simmons explained.

"Permission to step forward, sir?" Caboose's lieutenant (Smith, if Dallas remembered correctly) asked.

"Don't be so formal, dude," Grif said. "We don't have all day."

"And who's fault is that?" Simmons muttered.

"Okay, well, my friends call me Smith, sir!" The recruit said cheerfully. "I've served the New Republic faithfully for several years, and I believe Captain Caboose is one of the kindest and most intelligent individuals I've ever had the pleasure of serving, sir!"

"...Did he just say Caboose?" Dallas was sure he had misheard.

"And INTELLIGENT?" Tucker seemed just as confused as his teammate. "In the same sentence?"

"Yes, I believe those are the words he said," Caboose said. "He also said 'the' and 'I' and a lot of other words."

"Um, moving on," Simmons said quickly, turning to the next recruit. "Name and fact, go!"

"My names is Bitters, and my fun fact is I don't have one," the young man uttered in a bored tone.

"You can't think of one?" Simmons asked.

"No, I just don't care enough."

"Oh, well, um..." Simmons turned to his own chosen lieutenant. "Jensen, how about you?"

"Ooh, okay! Well, um, my name is Katie Jensen." The young woman had a very noticeable lisp and spoke with great enthusiasm. "And I like vehicle maintenance and biology and— and— "

Her words stopped mid-sentence, and were replaced with a gargled, choking sound as she collapsed to the ground. The captains watched this scene unfold with slight confusion. "Should...we help her?" Grif asked, unsure.

"It's okay, I'm alright!" She assured them, coughing as she pulled herself to her feet. "Just choked on my own spit."

Tucker turned his head towards Simmons. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"She makes me less nervous than my other recruits!" He explained hastily. "Just...shut up!"

"Whatever. Next!" Grif said.

"The name's Palomo!" Tucker's recruit said proudly. "Slayer of women, woo-er of evil. Wait...no, that's not right..."

"Oh, my fucking God," Tucker groaned irritably.

"Is that your 'fun fact?' " Simmons asked.

"No, uh...I'm the only surviving member of green team! So, suck on that~!"

"God, I fucking hate you, Palomo," Tucker muttered.

"Well, I suppose that leaves my recruit." Dallas said, his gaze on the young woman at the end of the line. "Go ahead."

"Best for last? Hell yes!" Sinclair said. "Okay, well, the name's Jack Sinclair."

"Oh, thank God, another girl." Tucker sounded relieved. "Hey, Dallas, you willing to switch lieutenants?"

"Absolutely not."

"And what's your fun fact?" Grif asked when Simmons remained unusually silent.

"Well, I have the ability to break a watermelon between my thighs," Sinclair said. "Ask Palomo, he saw it earlier."

"Best fifteen bucks I've ever spent!" Palomo said triumphantly.

"...Seriously, Dallas. PLEASE switch with me—"

"Tucker, I said no."

"Okay, now that introductions are out of the way, I suppose we should talk about the reason why we're all here." Simmons cleared his throat. "You have all been chosen for a mission to rescue the remaining survivors of a UNSC shipwreck from several months back."

"Yeah, we know," Bitters muttered.

"General Kimball has given us five days to prepare you for this mission," Dallas continued. "So, the sooner we get started the better. Does anyone have any questions?"

"I do!" Smith spoke up. "Who is leading this team?"

"I am!"

Every captain except Dallas responded at the same time, resulting in an uncomfortable moment of silence between them as they processed their mutual misunderstanding.

"Guys, come on, I'm the most logical of the group," Simmons said. "I should be leader!"

"Okay, but I kind of like being in charge of all these newbies," Grif said. "All the primping and praising kind of makes me feel important."

"Well, I think there's an easy way to settle this!" Caboose said. "Raise your hand if you were the leader of a team any time before joining this army."

"Caboose, you being picked as a leader was a fluke!" Tucker insisted.

"Yeah, and I didn't raise my hand."

"Besides, if we're counting experience, so far I'm the only one who's been on an actual mission," Tucker crossed his arms. "If anything, I should be leader!"

Dallas watched them argue as he pondered his thoughts. "May I make a suggestion, gentlemen?"

"Dallas, don't tell us you want to be leader, too!" Tucker said.

"Oh, goodness, no." Dallas's shoulders fell. "I wouldn't feel comfortable in such an important position, what with my history and all, it just wouldn't be appropriate."

"Oh..." Tucker looked apologetic. "Right...uh, sorry."

"It's fine, Tucker. But as I was sayin', I have an idea on how to solve your issue."

"Is the idea 'make Caboose leader?'" Caboose asked. "Because I like that idea very much."

"No, Caboose."

"Then what is it?" Simmons wanted to know.

"Why not just hold a vote?"


	20. Part 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20! I can’t believe how far TDOPFLID has come, and I am just so proud of it! I don’t have a WHOLE lot to say about this particular chapter, but it is still a milestone, and I’m happy~ 
> 
> Also Sinclair’s still amazing and I love her (Just a reminder that she is awakeonprospit's OC and if you like Sinclair, please let her know <3)

"My fellow soldiers! If you elect me as the group's leader, you're not only voting for a kind, intelligent, and rather handsome man. You're voting for victory!"

"Oh, my fucking God."

"Grif, stop interrupting my speech!" Simmons ordered, and cleared his throat before he continued speaking. "As I was saying, I have excellent planning skills and experience in strategizing and calculating my opponent's next move. And, not to brag or anything, but I also happen to be the best DM in Blood Gulch. Just keep that in mind! Remember, a vote for Dick Simmons is a vote for America!"

The group was silent for a brief moment as the young recruits digested the speaker's words, before Palomo was the first to break the silence. "We're not even in America!"

"...Fuck!"

"My turn!" Caboose darted up to the platform as Simmons headed down the opposite stairs in defeat. "Okay, yes, well...If I am elected class president, my first order of business will be to put Kool-Aids in all the water fountains! Secondly—"

A nudge to Dallas's arm distracted him from his teammate's riveting speech, and he turned to see Sinclair looking at him. "What is it?"

"So, why aren't you giving a speech?" She asked, as Caboose rambled on about 'asking Principal Kimball for extra recess.'

"I am not interested in bein' leader of the entire group," he informed her.

"Why?"

"My reasons are my own, Sinclair."

"Ah, I gotta be a level-fiver, huh?" she asked.

Again with that odd saying of hers. "I am still unaware of what that means."

"Oh, lemme explain, then!" She turned to face him. "Okay, so you know how in video games, you get better skills and more experience as you level up?"

"I have not played a video game in a very long time, but go on."

"It's like that. Level one's the Acquaintance Level. You learn names and small facts about each other. Level Two, you start dipping your toes further into the Friendship Pool and learn a little more. And it keeps going. Level Five, man, that's where you learn backstories and stuff. Level Five Friend!"

"I have a feeling you created that metaphor yourself."

"...So?"

A thin smile tugged at Dallas's lips at her response. "Well, in a sense, I suppose it is rather fittin'. Though, unfortunately for you, I am unsure if I will ever be comfortable revealin' so much information about myself to you or Michaels."

She shrugged. "Eh, I can respect that. There are some things that you gotta keep private."

"Grif, you can't call dibs on being leader!"

Simmons' outcry brought their focus back to the speeches, and it was then that Dallas realized that Caboose had finished and Grif was now atop the platform in his place.

"...You sure?" Grif asked.

"I'm positive! Dibs can only be applied to physical objects and, in the rare case, teammates!"

"Like Dallas~!" Caboose said cheerfully.

Grif huffed irritably. "Fine, whatever. I didn't want to be the stupid leader anyway..."

Grumbling, he headed off the platform as the final captain took his place. "So, uh, what's up. Tucker here. Let's see, uh, speech... speech... Well, I've always said I'm a lover and not a fighter. You heard it here, Sinclair!" He flicked a finger pistol at the young lieutenant.

"Knock it off, Tucker," Dallas said in a warning tone.

"Ehh, I don't know, Captain..." Sinclair spoke up. "I mean, he does sound kinda hot for an older man."

"Sinclair, no."

"Psh, you're no fun."

"Please. God. Tell me you guys haven't been standing around talking all morning." Everyone turned their heads towards Felix, who was standing off to the side as he observed their meeting. "You should've started training ages ago!"

"Ugh, okay look, you know what?" Tucker said, heads turning towards him again. "I don't want to be a leader. Being a leader totally sucks. Not only is it a shit ton of work, but you also have to put up with people who bug the shit out of you! But I want to get my friends back, and I will deal with whatever bullshit I have to do to make it happen! ...And if I was holding a mic, this would be the part where I drop it."

"I vote for Tucker!"

Jensen was the first to express her thoughts vocally and the other lieutenants followed suit, each of them agreeing with her choice. The decision was unanimous.

"Congrats, Tucker, you got the job!" Grif said. "That you hate."

"Yeah, great. Fantastic. So happy for you," Felix said in a sarcastically-sweet voice. "So, uh, do you guys plan on starting your training at some point today, or do you want to just keep dicking around? Because hey, by all means, keep doing that if you want. I could watch this train wreck all day. It's like the Hindenburg disaster, do any of you know about that? Or...shit, what was the name of that Freelancer ship that went down? 'Mother of Something'... It's like that. That was awesome."

Dallas glared at him as Tucker rejoined his teammates. "We'll begin our trainin' shortly. But thank you oh-so-much for remindin' us, Felix. Whatever would we do without you here to assist us?"

"According to what you've BEEN doing, not much." Felix responded. "But hey, don't let me tell you how to do your jobs. That's what your newly-elected leader over there is for, right?"

Tucker and Dallas exchanged a glance, and the turquoise soldier stood up straight. "That's right, Felix! It's what I'm here for. And now that we've picked a leader, I'd say it's time to train!"

"Yeah, no shit," Felix muttered.

\-----

"So, what's the point of this again?" Bitters asked.

"The point of THIS, Bitters, is to make you all better fighters," Tucker explained. "Dallas, you want to explain it better?"

"Simmons and Jensen have installed capture software into all of our helmets," Dallas said, as he assisted Sinclair with her helmet. "This will allow us to transmit what we see on the battlefield to a local server."

"Um, I have a question about the cameras," Palomo spoke up.

"Yes, what is it, Palomo?" Dallas asked.

"Are the cameras only filming us on the battlefield or all the time?" Palomo asked.

"They will be filming your activities at all time, until your helmet or armor is removed," Dallas informed him. "And will resume filmin' when your helmet is over your head again."

"Well, I'm not sure how comfortable I am with that," Palomo said. "I mean, what if they film us doing something embarrassing? Like masturbating, or...I don’t know, looking at Jensen's butt?"

"EXCUSE ME?" Jensen sputtered, sounding offended.

"Tucker, please control him," Dallas said.

"Palomo, just don't stare at her," Tucker ordered.

"But now it's all I'm thinking about!" Palomo said.

"Want me to kick his ass?" Sinclair offered. "I could do it."

"No, Sinclair, that won't be necessary," Dallas said.

"Well, now, I wouldn't say that..." Tucker said.

His leader's willingness to resort to violence made Palomo squeak in fear. "You know what, I'll just go over here and look at the ceiling..."

"I still don't know how this is going to make us any better at fighting," Bitters said.

"It's like this: sometimes you're with a lady, right?" Tucker added. "And she wants to spice things up in the bedroom-"

"It's nothing like that." Dallas interrupted. 

"No, just hear me out, Dallas!" Tucker continued. "You set up the camera, and then you, you know, get it on. And she's totally into it and it makes the sex even hotter, but the best part is that you can go back and rewatch to see what kind of moves work best, and what you need to do better."

"...Well, in a sense, he's not wrong," Dallas admitted. "The cameras WILL allow us to film our movements while trainin' and we can rewatch them at a later time and discover where we require improvement.”

“I just said that,” Tucker pointed out.

"I've heard of this tactic before." Smith said. "Didn't Project Freelancer do something like this? I could have sworn that the newspapers mentioned something about cameras and simulations..."

Dallas went rigid at the mention of Project Freelancer, and this motion was not missed by Tucker. "Well, uh, we don't know all the details about what went down in Project Freelancer, but if you're asking whether or not we were monitored, then yeah, we were." Tucker explained. "Apparently the, uh, the guy running the place used us to test weapons and stuff for his Freelancers. Or something like that. I don't know."

"I think it would have been cool to be a part of such an elite group of soldiers," Sinclair said. "I mean, I heard these guys were like...the most badass of the badass!"

"Weren't the Freelancers, like...criminals or something?" Palomo asked.

"Doesn't make them any less badass," Sinclair pointed out. "I heard somewhere that a few of them jumped off a building a hundred miles high!"

"I heard it was a thousand!" Jensen had joined the conversation. "And the building exploded!"

"Grif, are we set for trainin'?" Dallas asked, desperate to change the subject.

"I told someone else to set up the training weapons," Grif answered.

"You make SUCH a great leader, Grif." Simmons' tone was thick with sarcasm.

"Why, thank you, Simmons. I've been saying it for years."

Simmons sighed heavily. "Okay, please tell me you can still understand sarcasm."

"I can, but a compliment's a compliment."

"A sarcastic compliment is NOT still a compliment!"

"Then why is the word 'compliment' in there?"

"Grif, are the weapons set up or not?" Tucker interrupted them.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's peachy." Grif assured him. 

"Good, then we can begin." Tucker turned to face the entire group. "Okay, so today's mission is to disarm and apprehend an enemy soldier."

"Only one guy?" Palomo asked.

"Seems easy enough," Smith said.

Tucker heard the sound of a knife being sharpened behind him, and he didn't even need to turn around to know that a certain mercenary was watching their group. "The soldier is Felix."

"Wait a second, what?" Taking his eyes off his knife, Felix lifted his head in confusion. "I didn't agree to that!"

"Aw, come on, dude! If we can take out you, the best fighter in the New Republic, I'm pretty sure we can take out any Feds that try to stop us."

"I appreciate the flattery, but I still don't want to help you guys out."

"You won't have to do anything," Tucker assured him. "Just sit around and do what you normally do, but know that you'll have a target on your back."

"Alright, fine." Felix said. "Bring it on, kiddies."

"We will!" Tucker responded fiercely. "And when we capture you, you're gonna tell Kimball we're ready for the mission!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

The soldiers went silent, both expecting the other to speak again or take action, but nothing happened. "So, uh, are you just going to stand there, or what?" Tucker asked.

"No, I was sticking my tongue out at you!" Felix explained. "But, uh... I-I guess I'm wearing a helmet, so that... that doesn't really work... Shut up!"

Dallas approached Tucker as Felix stormed away, slightly embarrassed by their conversation. "Tucker, are you sure we'll be able to take him out?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't we? We've got a great team of soldiers here and with our combined efforts, I think we can do it."

Dallas was surprised at this response. "Wow, Tucker, that was a surprisingly mature answer-"

"-Or you know, we could have Sinclair crush his head between her thighs." Tucker interrupted. "Then we're not only ready to go, but we don't have to deal with Felix anymore and I get to see those thighs in action! Mm-hmm!"

Dallas was not surprised in the slightest by this addition to Tucker's response. "Tucker, Sinclair is significantly younger than you are. Stop makin' such obscene remarks about her!"

"Dude, come on. The last girl I slept with was Grif's sister, and that was YEARS ago! Let me have this."

"The last woman I slept with was my wife, but you don't see me jumpin' the bones of every girl that crosses my path," Dallas said.

Tucker turned to stare at him like he had just said something completely bizarre. "...So, what, you've slept with guys? I mean, I'm not judging or anything, but—"

"And we're droppin' this subject NOW."


	21. Part 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck, this chapter kicked my ass for no reason other than it was just incredibly difficult to write properly, which might be why it’s coming out a little later than usual. But I showed it who’s boss!
> 
> Also hey, we learn some stuff about Sinclair and her life(once again, awakeonprospit's OC, who read over everything and made sure everything centered around her child was written well in this chapter, so mega thanks to her!). Looks like we all just became a level five friend. Maybe level seven.

Training over the next few days did not go as smoothly as Tucker had predicted.

Working with fewer teammates did make formulating plans a lot easier, and each of the chosen lieutenants had their own set of skills that were useful on the battlefield.

Jensen was adept at repairing any vehicles presented to her, as she had mentioned in her introduction. Smith was built like a tank and about as strong as one, too. Palomo and Bitters, while often distracted by hunger or the inability to stop staring at Jensen ("Seriously, I can kick his ass if you want, Captain Tucker!" Sinclair would always remind them), they still had determination and the ability to follow orders given to them. And Sinclair was, if anything, overly willing to fight.

But despite their combined skills, the lieutenants were still fairly undertrained and no match for a soldier like Felix. Hell, not even the captains were a match for the mercenary.

And every attempt they tried to restrain him resulted in failure.

An attempt involving a grenade ended with Caboose absentmindedly tossing it against a wall and having it bounce back into their vicinity. Another plan involved a quick-thinking Tucker and another grenade, which he launched at Felix. The mercenary simply caught the oncoming grenade and tossed it back at Tucker before it could explode. A thankfully-grenadeless attack by the lieutenants ended with Jensen sneezing in her helmet, Palomo continuing to be lewd, and Felix slipping out of their grasp once again.

To make matters worse, their helmet cameras captured every failed attempt and ended up in the hands of the two privates in charge of trimming the clips down to the most important bits. Privates Ghanoush and McCallister by name. And the 'important' bits to them were the most embarrassing of screwups to the Reds and Blues. Most of which they were forced to sit and watch after every training session, while Ghanoush and McCallister, eventually joined by their teammates, howled with laughter over their shortcomings ("Dude, save a copy of these tapes!" McCallister insisted. "Jones has gotta see this shit!").

But Tucker insisted that they keep on training.

"This time, it's sure to work." He assured the group, as he and Dallas kept hidden behind a rock with their lieutenants. "Are the Reds in position?"

"Grif, Simmons, are you in position?" Dallas asked.

"Yeah, yeah, we're here." Grif informed him over the radio, as he and Simmons also took cover behind a large stalagmite with their lieutenants.

"Good." Tucker said. "You and your lieutenants need to keep Felix distracted long enough for us to catch him by surprise."

"Can do." Simmons responded. "Just wait for Jensen to give you all the signal."

"Alright, now shh! I can see Felix near your location." Tucker said, peeking over the rock to get a visual on the mercenary.

"Wait, if we're trying to distract him, then why would we need to be quiet?" Simmons asked. "If anything, we'll need to keep talking in order to—"

"You do realize I can hear you, right?"

It was only then that the Red Team realized that Felix was standing beside their hiding spot, staring at them curiously.

"Oh, uh, hey Felix!" Simmons sputtered, thinking fast. "Nice weather we're having today, isn't it?"

"...We're in a fucking cave."

"Uh, right, uh..."

"Guys, now!" Jensen frantically exclaimed over the radio.

"HERE WE COME, FUCKTRUCK!"

"Sinclair, wait—!"

Sinclair leaped out from behind their hiding place, ready to attack. Unfortunately, her outcry also attracted Felix's attention and he turned away from the Reds to focus on the lieutenant sprinting towards him. Shaking his head, he merely raised his lightshield as Sinclair lunged at him with all her might. She splattered against the shield like a bug and fell to the ground with a painful thud.

"A good try." Felix said, his shield disappearing. "...Actually, who am I kidding? That was fucking pathetic."

"Sinclair." Dallas hurried over to help her up. "Are you alright—"

"PATHETIC?!" She was back on her feet before her captain could even extend his hand. "I'll show you pathetic!"

Her gun abandoned on the ground, Sinclair began to swing her fists wildly in Felix's direction. Dallas was surprised by this sudden outburst from her, and for a moment, he was frozen in place as he watched Sinclair try and take Felix down in an emotionally-driven manner. He easily dodged her sporadic attacks and, noticing her attention was mostly focused on trying to knock him down, managed to knock her back on her rear with a clean sweep of his legs.

"Yeah, good choice on your lieutenant, Dallas." Felix said. "She's a real winner."

"Felix, that's not necessary." Dallas managed to snap out of his surprised state long enough to try and help Sinclair off the ground again. He could tell that Felix's taunting had a strong effect on her, and he knew that letting her fight him while emotionally compromised would not have positive results. "Sinclair, I think that's enough trainin' for you for now."

"Just give me one more chance!" she begged, repeating her actions as before and leaping to her feet without taking her captain's hand. "I can take him down, I know it!"

"Why don't you listen to Dallas, kiddo?" Felix interrupted. "He'll keep you from falling on your ass again. Or don't. I mean, I don't mind having to kick your ass a few times if I need to, so by all means—"

"You son of a bitch!"

"Both of you. That's enough!" Dallas ordered firmly. "Sinclair, you're done trainin' for the day. Please return to your quarters."

"But, Dallas—" she protested.

"That's an order, Sinclair."

With a huff, she picked up her gun and furiously stormed away from the group. Dallas felt a twinge of guilt form as he watched her leave, but it was buried by the overwhelming annoyance he felt towards Felix. He turned back to the mercenary, who seemed unbothered by the whole ordeal.

"What the hell's your problem, Felix?" Tucker asked, clearly just as annoyed as Dallas.

"What? She wanted me to fight her, and I did. It was Dallas who was being a buzzkill and telling her to stop."

"I stopped her because while I can acknowledge that she has an impressive amount of skill, she is still too inexperienced to take you on in a fist fight." Dallas said.

"Psh, so?" Felix said. "She's a grown woman, let her make her own choices. If she wants to get her ass kicked because she doesn't know when to quit, then that's her business."

"Why are you being such a dick?" Tucker asked irritably.

"You said I was a target." Felix pointed out. "You think I'm gonna just sit by and let you guys take me out easily?"

"Felix, come on! We don't have time for this!" Tucker said. "If we don't get the okay from Kimball before the week passes—"

"Then you clearly wouldn't last two seconds on the real mission." Felix said, arms crossed.

"Regardless of whether you're right or not, you provokin' my lieutenant isn't goin' to make her any more prepared for the battlefield." Dallas responded. "And beratin' the rest of us will not solve matters either."

"Hey, I'm telling it like it is. You're all not ready for the mission, and if you can't take me down without me holding back, then sending you on it would be suicide!" Felix sighed and shook his head. "God, you know, for people who've done so much, you really are just a bunch of idiots, aren't you?"

"We told you that from the beginning!" Tucker said.

"Well, minus the idiot part," Dallas added.

"So then why are you trying to still be something you're not?!"

"Felix!"

Kimball's voice interrupted their conversation and the group turned to see the general approaching them. Felix took that as a sign to make his exit, but not before telling the men one last thing.

"...Whether you go or not is ultimately up to her. But risking the lives of more people...that's on you."

Felix's words were a stab to Dallas's heart, sharper than the mercenary's cherished knife. He knew Felix was likely referring to the lives of the young men and women they were training here, and the soldiers that Tucker had inadvertently killed by disobeying orders, but his mind immediately jumped to the last group of soldiers whose lives he had affected so negatively.

"I thought you didn't care about losing people." Tucker said when Dallas didn't respond, still lost in his thoughts.

"I don't." Felix said. "But I know you do."

Satisfied, Felix finally made his departure and headed in the opposite direction as Kimball, who had finally reached their group. "Tucker, Dallas...we need to talk."

"Can it not be as depressing as the talk we're having now?" Tucker asked drearily.

"General, if it's not too much trouble, I would prefer to check on my lieutenant before I do anythin' else." Dallas requested.

Kimball made a noise that indicated she would have preferred to talk to both him and Tucker together, but she nodded her head. "Very well. Tucker, come with me."

"I'll let you know what she says," Tucker assured Dallas with a pat on the back.

Dallas watched his teammate and the general for a moment as they headed towards the radioactive lake, before turning to the Reds, who had watched the previous scene unfold in uncomfortable silence. "Mind if I—?"

"Dude, go do your thing." Grif assured him. "We'll put away the training stuff."

Simmons stared at him. "And by we, you mean—"

"Bitters, put the stuff away."

Dallas heard Bitters groan as he headed away from them. "Ugh, fine."

\-------------------

"God, I fucking hate Felix!"

Dallas was a short distance from the lieutenants' quarters when he heard Sinclair's outcry echo through the open doorway, and only stopped when her words were followed by a loud crashing sound, like something hitting a metal surface. The sound was instantly followed by a frightened gasp from, Dallas presumed, Michaels.

"Sorry, Keith... Did I frighten you?" Sinclair's tone had gone from resentful to concerned, and Dallas's assumption of the source of the frightened gasp was confirmed.

"No, I—I'm okay. It was just louder than the last few times." Michaels explained.

"Sorry...This thing's hard to crack."

A small pause from Michaels, as Dallas continued to listen in on the two lieutenants, curiosity heightened as to what the two of them would talk about when their leader was not present. The two of them were unaware of his presence right outside their bunk room, and continued their conversation without interruption.

"You really shouldn't break your helmet like that..." Michaels said.

"Yeah, well, I'm not letting Fuckface One and Fuckface Two get their hands on today's clips," she informed him, her words immediately followed by the noise from before, which Dallas now knew was her helmet clattering against the wall. "Like Hell they're gonna see what happened!"

"But won't the others have it on their cameras?" Michaels pointed out.

"...God damn it."

Dallas could hear Sinclair sigh heavily, which was immediately followed by the sound of footsteps. "Why did Dallas have to stop me from kicking his ass?! It's what we wanted to do, wasn't it? Why'd he have to fucking stop me?!"

"I thought you just needed to catch him?"

"I can kick his ass, THEN catch him!" Sinclair responded bitterly.

"Is Felix really that bad?" Michaels asked curiously. "I mean, I heard horror stories from Palomo, but—"

The footsteps stopped. "He reminds me of Helen..."

Silence followed, and Dallas's mind was racing with questions. Who was Helen? Sinclair had been forced to deal with more than one 'Felix' in her life?

"...She's not here, Jack." Michaels began to speak again, his voice faltering. "She can't hurt you again."

Another sigh. "It's just...hard to forget, sometimes. Some of the stuff Felix said reminded me of the week before I left. You remember?"

"Yeah, I do..."

"I can't deal with that shit again, Keith."

"I know."

Oh.

OH.

"Well...maybe you could talk to Dallas about your issues with Felix, if he bothers you that much?" Michaels suggested. "Explain to him what happened with...you know who? Dallas would understand why you acted the way you did."

A pause. "No, I don't wanna talk to him... Not about this..."

"Why not?"

There was a shuffling sound. "I don't know, him and the others got a mission to worry about and something like this could really stress him out more, you know?"

"That's true...But Dallas seems really nice, and I'm sure he'd want you to talk to him if something was bothering you."

"He got uppity when I flirted with Captain Tucker, and angry when I tried to fight Felix, who knows how he'll react if I tell him about...that kind of stuff?"

"He'd probably want to know..."

Dallas didn't hear the rest of their conversation. His feet began moving out of instinct and leading him away from where he had previously stood, his mind too overwhelmed to process exactly where he was going.

No wonder Sinclair had reacted the way she did towards Felix's insults, and had gotten upset when he intervened. Dallas had interrupted a fight that she had likely seen as some kind of outlet for her aggression towards, he guessed, a guardian in her life who had wronged her. Or perhaps an ex or...Dallas wasn't completely sure, and he didn't feel right trying to speculate the different possibilities of the identity of the mysterious wrongdoer in Sinclair's life.

Especially since he had likely been in their place when it came to his own child.

He sighed heavily, as he continued walking. He couldn't keep doing this. He had tried desperately to be a decent leader to these soldiers, despite his fear of history repeating itself, but if he had given them the impression that they could not approach him with their problems, and preferred to bottle them up and unleash them in a fashion that would likely get them hurt...

"You look terrible."

Dallas hadn't realized just how far he had walked while lost in his thoughts, and had nearly crashed into Tucker while his gaze was locked to the cave floor. "You sound no better than I look."

"Yeah, well, you're never gonna believe what Kimball wanted to talk to me about. But, uh, we'd better get the rest of the guys before we talk about it."

"Why? What's wrong?" Dallas forgot his own issues for a moment, now concerned about Tucker.

"Just come with me, I'll explain on the way."


	22. Part 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much tamer chapter after the last one. Not much to say about it, other than the fact I’m glad we’re getting closer to a certain point. Also, heads up, Tucker says something that COULD be considered offensive around the conversation regarding CT. I know it’s Tucker, and half the stuff he says is already offensive, but just a warning.

"Partners?"

"That's what Kimball said." The dirt crunching beneath Tucker and Dallas's armored feet was the only sound aside from their voices as they headed towards the mess hall. "Though she used the term loosely. Turns out Felix and Locus didn't get along even back then."

"Now that's not surprisin'," Dallas responded. "Then again, I can't think of anyone who WOULD get along with Felix."

That got a chuckle out of Tucker. "Good point. But she says it's why Felix is still working with the New Republic to win the war. You know, one more chance to see whether he's better than his former partner, or something?"

"I see."

"I don't know why she was telling me all this about him. I think she kinda likes him a little bit. Think they might be...you know, getting it on?~ I mean, he does shit for money, so..."

Dallas shrugged and shook his head. "Perhaps she was tryin' to assure you that he has better intentions than he lets on? Though, I doubt I'd believe her if that was the case."

"Yeah, I don't care if the guy's actually a saint under all that asshole. I don't feel like pushing past the asshole part."

Upon hearing this double entendre, Dallas stopped walking. "...Tucker."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds, but am I wrong?"

Dallas sighed heavily and continued along. "No, you're not wrong. And I agree: Felix could be the most pleasant person on Chorus beneath that rough exterior, but after how he's been treatin' us and our teams, I have no desire to get acquainted with him further."

"I know, right? But maybe we won't have to."

"What do you mean?"

It was Tucker's turn to stop walking. "Look, I was gonna wait until we were with the others to talk about this, but...you know our troops won't be ready for the mission in time, right? You're smart, man, and if I know, then I know you know."

Dallas remained silent for a moment, hesitant to answer after what he had heard from Michaels and Sinclair. The last thing he wanted to do was speak ill of them but... "It...just doesn't seem likely that they will be fully prepared for battle by the week's end."

"That's what I'm saying! They totally stink!"

"Tucker—" Dallas said in a warning tone.

"Okay, maybe they don't STINK, but—"

"Dallas, Tucker!"

Their conversation was interrupted by a familiar orange figure bursting out of the mess hall and rushing towards them, moving at a speed that surprised Dallas. Grif seemed panicked as he came to a sudden halt in front of them.

"Grif, what's up?"

"Tucker, tell me I'm lazy!" Grif demanded frantically.

"Uh...what?"

"Tell me I don't listen!"

Tucker and Dallas exchanged a glance. "Again...what?" Tucker asked.

"I don't want a southern accent!" Grif wailed, before he dropped to the group in a sobbing mess.

"Argh, ahoy!" Caboose piped up. "You gotta walk the booty!"

"Grif, Sarge is from Iowa!" Simmons pointed out, having joined them while Grif was busy with his emotions. "Iowa's not a southern state!"

"It's all the same to me!" Grif continued to whine.

"You're not turning into Sarge!" Simmons shook his head. "Sorry, guys, we're working out some issues..."

"Well, hurry up and get over it!" Tucker ordered. "We have to talk about something."

"What is it?" Simmons asked, as he helped Grif to his feet.

"We can't talk about it here."

"We can talk about a lot of things here!" Caboose pointed out. "Like the rocks...and the pointy bits up on the ceiling...and the pointy bits on the ground... and more rocks. Ooh, that rock looks like Church!"

Dallas was slightly unnerved when he saw Caboose wave his gun wildly at the rocky 'Church' and gestured for him to follow Tucker and the others, who had started to make their way towards their own quarters.

"So, do you know what Tucker wants to talk about?" Simmons asked Dallas, as Grif trudged behind them.

"I do, but I'm sure he'd prefer to tell you himself," Dallas informed him as Tucker came to a sudden halt. "Isn't that right, Tucker?"

There was a pause of silence as the group waited for his response. Eventually, Tucker let out a heavy sigh and turned to them. "Guys, we gotta go."

"Go?" Simmons asked. "Go where?"

"Can we go the amusement park?" Caboose asked hopefully. "Because I would like to go there!"

"No, Caboose. We're gonna break into that Fed compound and rescue Wash and the rest of the Reds," Tucker explained.

"But what about our squad?" Simmons spoke up. "We've still got a few days until the deadline, so why leave before we've finished training them?"

"They're not coming with us."

"Are they going to be taking a different car?" Caboose asked. "Maybe a plane?"

Tucker shook his head. "Caboose, they're not coming at all. We're going on the mission alone."

"But why?" Grif asked.

"Well, I was telling Dallas this when we were coming to get you guys, but our super-elite team sucks—"

"Tucker."

"—and by sucks, I mean they're not going to be ready in time for the mission," Tucker corrected himself.

"You don't know that," Simmons said. "Kimball could still pass us in time."

"I'm not talking about passing." Tucker explained. "I'm talking about our soldiers getting shot or blown up or something."

"I have to agree with Tucker," Dallas said, his thoughts drifting back to Sinclair. "While I don't doubt the fightin' capabilities of our men and women, they are still very inexperienced. And, as Tucker and I were discussin' on our way here, a week is just not enough time to prepare them for what we'll be up against."

"It's like Felix said, we'll just be risking the lives of more people," Tucker explained further, unable to resist a glance at Dallas as he spoke. "And I know none of us want that..."

"So, we go alone?" Grif asked. "Won't we just end up getting ourselves killed instead?"

Tucker shrugged. "Eh, we've survived worse, haven't we? Remember when we fought all of those Texes?"

"We had Church to help us," Simmons pointed out.

Another shrug from Tucker. "Well...What about when we fought the Meta? Or CT?"

"Wait...CT?" Dallas looked at Tucker with genuine surprise. "As in Agent Connecticut?"

"Uh, maybe?"

The older man went from surprised to perplexed. "But Agent Connecticut is dead."

"Well, we fought SOMEONE named CT in the desert."

"Church killed him with his laser face!" Caboose said proudly, and proceeded to make several gun firing noises in an attempt to imitate Epsilon's 'laser face sounds.'

"He?" Dallas asked, further confused by this information. "Last I was aware, Agent Connecticut was female."

"Well, the guy we fought sounded pretty male to me," Tucker explained. "And trust me, I'd know if CT was a girl. I got a sixth sense about these kind of things."

"Maybe CT had a voice filter like Tex did?" Simmons suggested.

"She can't use a voice filter if she is no longer alive," Dallas pointed out. "Not to mention her suit of armor had been stolen before we could retrieve her body, so she would have no access to her voice filter even if she had survived her fight with Agent Texas."

"Whatever, we took out SOMEONE named CT," Tucker continued, returning to their original topic of conversation. "And the Meta, who was even tougher than him. Or her. Or whoever the fuck it was in the desert! If we can do all that, then we can break into some base and get our guys back no sweat."

"But not even Felix could break into the base," Grif reminded them.

"WE'RE not Felix," Tucker replied. "Felix is smart. We're dumb."

"Excuse me?" Dallas interrupted.

"Most of us are dumb," Tucker said. "They won't be expecting dumb."

"That's your plan?" Simmons asked in disbelief. "We wing it and hope for the best?"

"Hey, it's kept us alive until now, hasn't it?" Tucker asked. "I say we stop trying to pretend we know what we're doing and do what we do best."

"And that is?" Grif asked.

"...I have no idea. But it's worked for us so far, so it can't be wrong!"

Dallas was lost in thought as Grif and Simmons began to discuss whether or not they thought Tucker's plan was a good idea (Grif seemed all on board, which was surprising to Simmons). He thought about Sinclair and Michaels, and the conversation he had overheard. He pictured Sinclair and the other soldiers following their leaders into battle, and not making it back. He imagined how Michaels would react upon receiving the news that one of the most important people in his life was dead.

He thought about the lost men and women of Project Freelancer, about Carolina, about Wash, about Allison...Everyone he had wronged. Everyone who had gotten hurt or died, because of his choices.

He had dreaded training the younger soldiers since the beginning, but had done so because he thought it would be the best chance they had at rescuing Washington and the remaining Reds. But Tucker was right: There was no way their lieutenants would be physically prepared for the mission by week's end. If they stayed, they would only be wasting the little time they had before the others were relocated and out of their reach for good. If they went, then they would only be risking the lives of the younger soldiers.

But was Tucker's plan of NOT having a plan really the best idea? Dallas had always been a man who thought before he acted, and always predicted every possible outcome for every choice. Not that he was known for making the right choices, and he'd admit that he ignored the little voice at the back of his mind more times then he probably should have for his own selfish desires. So the idea of jumping into something with no set plan in mind was strange and slightly unnerving to him.

Though, he had to admit that the Reds and Blues did have quite the track record of surviving events that even the most advanced soldiers would struggle to survive. They had not only defeated some of his toughest agents, but had even befriended several of them. If anyone could do this and make it out alive, they certainly could.

"Dallas? You paying attention?"

Tucker's voice distracted him from his thoughts, and he only now realized that the others were staring at him. "I apologize, Tucker, what is it that you needed?"

"Well, the rest of us agree that going to the base alone is the best plan."

"After we steal some food for the trip," Grif reminded him, causing Simmons to shake his head in exasperation.

"And we will need a car to drive when we go on our road trip!" Caboose pointed out, sounding excited over the thought. "Maybe, ahhh, one with a radio? So we can have sing-a-longs?"

"Are you in?" Tucker asked Dallas, having ignored the others' interruptions. "Or do you have another idea?"

Dallas took another glance around at the soldiers before he responded. "...You know what, Tucker? I'm willing to try something dumb for once. Let's do it."

\-------------

"Okay, we got everything we need?"

"Let's see..." Simmons began to list off the things they had already retrieved on his fingers. "We got the Warthogs. We got the extra food, which will probably last five minutes if it goes in the same car as Grif—"

"Try one minute," Grif corrected him.

"Just put it in our vehicle." Dallas told them. "Also, do we have any kind of map to the base, so we actually know where we're goin'?"

"Way ahead of you on that," Tucker assured him. "I sneaked into Kimball's office and grabbed all the data I could on the Feds, which included a map that'll lead us straight to them. Captain Tucker's on top of things!"

"Good to know," Dallas said. "And since we all possess weapons, there will be no need to acquire more. So that's another thing to check off the list."

"Wait a second!" Simmons exclaimed suddenly, a thought occurring. "What about the lieutenants?"

Tucker looked confused. "Didn't we already agree that they're not coming with us?"

Simmons shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. Are we really just going to leave them without a goodbye? I mean...shouldn't we at least, like, leave them a note or a message or something?"

All heads turned towards the lone computer on the farthest wall of the garage, near one of the remaining Warthogs they had not chosen to 'borrow' for their journey.

"Alright, but let's make this quick," Tucker ordered. "Before anyone comes in here and sees us."

The five of them hurried towards the computer, and with a few fast clicks, they opened up the voice messaging system. "What should we say?" Grif asked.

"It'll take too long to explain everything," Tucker said. "Just tell them we had to leave, and it's not their fault. You know, keep it short and to the point."

"I think that's best," Dallas agreed.

Simmons nodded, and pressed the record button. "Hello everyone! If you're listening to this, it means we're already gone."

"Look, it's not you guys. It's us," Tucker added.

"What Tucker means is that there are things we must do on our own," Dallas said, not wanting Sinclair to get the wrong idea when she heard this. "And we don't want anyone else to get hurt for our sake. Especially none of you."

"Psst, tell them to always brush their teeth and floss!" Caboose asked in a loud whisper. "Cavities are very bad!"

"Not the time, Caboose!" Grif spoke up.

"We love you! Tell your mothers we will call to check up on you!" Caboose said loudly, as Simmons hit the stop button with a sigh.

"Well, it's not perfect, but it'll work." Tucker had already returned to the Warthogs and was climbing into one of the driver’s seats. "Come on, let's go."

Dallas followed Caboose to their Warthog and hopped in back as the blue soldier took shotgun and the Reds started up their own vehicle. He stared back at the New Republic as they headed out of the garage, the underground compound growing smaller and smaller behind them, before disappearing completely from sight as they headed upwards towards an exit to the surface.


	23. Part 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a lighthearted chapter...at first. Though, if the next chapter goes as planned, I think that’s for the best. Also if anyone gets the reference near the beginning, I’ll be impressed.

"This is ridiculous."

"Aww, come on, Dallas!"

"I've never been one for improv."

"It's not fucking rocket science, man," Grif urged over his radio. "All you have to do is come up with the best terrible superpower."

"Just make sure it's better/worse than 'the ability to fly north' or 'the ability to teleport one foot at a time'," Simmons added. "Of course, the ability to teleport one foot at a time is pretty terrible."

"Oh, please. No power that involves being able to teleport can be THAT terrible," Grif said.

Dallas thought for a moment, deciding to humor them. "Okay, hmm... how about the ability to... I don't know, change shape?"

"Shape-shifting's not a terrible power!" Simmons pointed out. "You know how awesome it'd be to change into something else?"

"Well, perhaps if you were limited to only being allowed to shape-shift into a form that was not of your choosin', it wouldn't be quite as useful?" Dallas suggested.

"Like what?"

Dallas paused to think again. "Perhaps you could only tuck into a ball-shaped form? Or maybe turn partially skinnier when you turn sideways?"

He could see the two exchanging glances, as if considering this power and silently forming an opinion, before Grif spoke again: "Eh, I think Simmons's power was shittier."

"Aww, did you HAVE to phrase it like that?" Simmons muttered. "Now I can't even be proud of it."

"God, this road trip sucks," Grif huffed, crossing his arms in a manner that made Dallas shook his head.

"Hey, I hate to butt in, guys," Tucker interrupted. "But we're running low on gas."

"I think I see a fueling station up ahead," Simmons said, as they turned a corner and more scenery came into view. "We can stop and reload."

"Sounds good," Tucker responded, as they headed in the direction of the desired location.

"Can we also restock on snacks?" Grif asked.

"I TOLD you not to eat everything before we even left the caves!" Simmons scolded.

"Oh, cry me a river, Simmons."

A nudge drew Dallas's attention away from the bickering Reds, and he turned to see Caboose staring at him. "Dallas, hey, Dallas, guess what?"

"What is it, Caboose?"

"Shhh!" He whispered loudly. "I do not want Tucker to hear what I am about to tell you!"

"I totally can," Tucker stated from the driver's seat.

"What are you about to tell me, Caboose?" Dallas asked, ignoring him.

"Since we are going to a gas station, I think that it would be very smart if we bought lottery tickets," Caboose told him. "And I think you should know my lucky lottery numbers, in case you want to buy one. They are five and seven."

That got a smile out of Dallas. "Well, that's sweet of you, Caboose. But I think since they're YOUR lucky numbers, you should be the one to use them before me."

The blue soldier sputtered with amazement at such a suggestion. "Are you sure? They're REALLY good numbers!"

"I'm sure, Caboose. You deserve them more than me."

"Aww, I just, wow, Dallas!" Caboose exclaimed with a wide smile. "You are just the nicest guy, you know that?"

"I'm really not, but I do appreciate the compliment."

"You know what?" Caboose continued, ignoring Dallas's self-depreciating comment. "If I win the lottery, I will share with you, okay?"

"We'll see, Caboose."

Dallas felt their Warthog slow to a stop in front of the fueling station, and Tucker hopped out of the driver's seat. "Hello? Anyone home?" he called. "We got cars here that need fuel!"

"And we would also like lottery tickets!" Caboose added loudly. "I would like to win money for me and my friend, Dallas!"

There was no response.

"I have a feeling that this place might be deserted," Dallas said, as the Reds exited their Warthog.

"No one's here?" Grif asked.

"It would appear so..."

Dallas felt a sense of uneasiness from his own statement. It felt odd for a place like this to be deserted. While the building certainly wasn't brand new, it definitely wasn't run down or closed; no broken windows or signs indicating the building was closed or any form of extreme disrepair. So the fact that there were no employees, even during a time of war, rubbed him the wrong way.

"You think this place has any magazines?" Tucker asked.

Dallas looked at him. "And by magazines, I assume you mean—"

"You fucking know what I mean, dude." Tucker returned the older man's look with one of his own. "Come on, it's been DAYS since I jerked off."

"Ooh, are we getting beef jerky while we are here?" Caboose joined the conversation. "I prefer the original to the spicy flavors. They make my tongue feel funny. And not the ‘haha’ kind of funny."

Dallas looked from soldier to soldier. "And exactly how do we plan on payin' for gas and supplies without any money?"

"Hey, you said it yourself: the place is deserted," Tucker pointed out. "I say we take what we need, and if someone does show up and try to stop us...we just use that 'galaxy's greatest heroes' title to our advantage."

"So we're stealin', then?" Dallas folded his arms. "I don't think you quite understand what the term 'hero' means..."

"Well, it's either that, or we walk to the base on foot," Simmons said. "Or possibly starve."

"Those both sound like fucking awful plans," Grif said, already heading for the station doors. "Let's fucking loot this place."

Dallas sighed. He wasn't thrilled at the idea of committing more crimes, but at this point, they really didn't have much of a choice. "Very well..."

Simmons watched his gluttonous teammate enter the building, before turning to Dallas. "Hey, can you make sure he doesn't take all the food for himself? I would but I have to refuel the cars, since HE'S APPARENTLY NOT GOING TO DO IT!" He angrily directed the last part of his sentence towards the building's entrance, in the hopes that Grif could hear his outrage. Whether he did or not was unknown, since no response could be heard from inside the station.

"I'll see what I can do, Simmons," Dallas assured him.

"Thanks."

"And...maybe grab a few magazines for me?" Tucker asked hopefully.

"Tucker..."

"Come on, just one?"

"Where on Earth are you goin' to, *ahem*...'read' it?" Dallas pointed out. "You're the one drivin' the Warthog and I'd rather you not be distracted."

"I could sit in the back," Tucker suggested.

"And then who will drive? My eyesight is not ideal and Caboose...well, I am not sure he is qualified to drive a motor vehicle. Plus, I would rather you not dirty the back of our Warthog with your bodily fluids."

"Alright, alright, I see your point," Tucker shrugged. "Just...grab me a snack or something?"

"I'll see what I can do," Dallas said, repeating what he had told Simmons.

While Simmons and Tucker headed for the gas pumps, and Caboose wandered off to do (Dallas assumed) 'Caboose' things, he stepped inside the supposedly abandoned station. The overhead lights flickered above them, confirming that the place did have power. And still no employees to be found? Dallas's suspicions increased as he glanced around, making a mental list of what foods would be best for the journey. He wasn't fond of the idea of stealing what they needed (he had done enough of that in his lifetime) but if they had to, he might as well steal the absolute necessities.

He could hear a mix of various crunching noises coming from one of the aisles at the other end of the station, and he could only assume that Grif had started feasting on whatever snacks he could find. He shook his head and began to gather some of the small bagged items in one of the aisles Grif had not gotten a chance to raid yet. He even grabbed a bag of beef jerky for Caboose and a few snacks for Tucker, pretending not to notice the rack of adult magazines near the register.

"Man, this is some bullshit!" He heard Grif mutter, followed by the sound of several paper cups hitting the floor. "This place has a billion fucking snacks but the slushie machine's empty?"

"Oh, no, however will you survive?" Dallas asked, stepping out of the aisle to see the other soldier near one of the counters.

"Aww, and there aren't even any hot dogs..." Grif whined, ignoring the other's sarcasm. "The fuck kind of gas station doesn't have hot dogs?!"

"There are no employees to be found in an open fuelin' station that should probably have several, and your biggest concern is a lack of hot dogs?" Dallas asked.

"Hey, you have your priorities and I have mine."

Dallas shook his head and opened one of the fridge doors on the nearest wall, pulling out several bottles of water. At least they were cold. "Would you like a bottle or two for you and your teammate?"

"Pssh, as if I'd drink that crap. Any soda?"

Dallas glanced over at the rows of bottled soda behind the glass refrigerator doors, before returning his gaze to Grif. "...No, not at all."

"Smartass. I'm going to take a piss."

"Charmin'."

"Grab me some Orange Crush!" Grif called, already heading for the two bathroom doors on the far wall.

Against his better judgement, Dallas decided to grab the other man a few bottles of his desired drink. Before his fingertips could touch the bottle, however, he heard Grif calling to him from inside the restroom:

"Hey, uh, Dallas? You might wanna come see this..." A pause. "I know how that sounds, but... You really wanna come see this..."

The orange soldier's voice went unusually high-pitched near the end of his sentence, an indication that he was being serious. Dallas set the bottles in his arms down and rushed towards the bathroom door, cautiously pushing it open.

Grif was standing in front of an open stall, his gazed fixated on whatever laid inside. As Dallas got closer, he could hear the faint sound of flies buzzing about, and what drew them to the stall was soon revealed to Dallas as he joined the other soldier.

The figure on the stall floor was very clearly dead, and while they had not been for long, it had been long enough for them to start rotting. The blood beneath their lifeless body had long since dried and bullet holes could be seen in various areas across their armor, the obvious cause of their death.

Whoever the poor soul was was unknown. But judging by their armor (which looked neither New Republic nor matched any of the suits they had seen so far on the soldiers in the Federal Army), Dallas assumed they had simply been an innocent bystander who had been murdered and left to rot in a gas station bathroom, an action that he could not imagine anyone from the New Republic carrying out. They might protect themselves when necessary, but they were not coldblooded killers.

"...Think this might’ve been the guy who worked here?" Grif said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"...We need to find the others."

Dallas was already sprinting back towards the restroom door and yanked it open again with frantic speed. It hit the nearest wall with a loud clatter and he didn't slow his pace as he made for the front door, nearly running into Simmons as he exited the building.

"Simmons—"

"Come with me!" Simmons said.

Before Dallas could inform him about the dead body, Simmons dragged both Dallas and his teammate out of the building, past the gas pumps and into the nearby caves. Caboose and Tucker were crouched near a pile of crates and Tucker silently gestured them over when he saw them approaching. Their poses indicated they were trying to remain hidden from some unknown enemy, the latter of whom was located on the other side of the crates, unaware of their presence.

"Be quiet," Tucker urged them in a hushed tone as the three of them joined the hidden Blues.

"Tucker, what's goin' on?" Dallas asked quietly.

Tucker flicked his thumb at the crates without responding, and Dallas could now hear faint voices on the other side:

"Thirty more minutes?! Ugh, this is such a waste of time," One voice whined.

"Yeah, come on, Jackson. Isn't there anything else Control wants us to do while we wait?" another voice asked hopefully.

"Orders are orders, guys."

Still keeping hidden, Dallas peeked around the side of the crates with the hopes of finding out whom they were currently eavesdropping on, and was surprised to see a small group of soldiers in armor that once again differed from the Feds, New Republic, or the corpse in the bathroom stall.

He ducked back into hiding and looked to Tucker for some kind of explanation as to the identities of the mysterious soldiers, but the other simply shrugged. "Caboose and I overheard them talking. Pretty sure they don't work at the fueling station."

"No shit," Grif hissed.

"Quiet..." Simmons urged, as the soldiers continued their conversation.

"Jackson." There was no mistaking that chilling, almost-robotic voice that came from one of the soldiers' communicators.

"Yes, Locus?"

"Change of plans. Report back to base immediately," Locus ordered. "The Reds and Blues will be requiring... an escort."

"Understood, sir, Jackson responded, before pausing. "You heard him, guys. Grab the gear and prepare for evac."

There was a series of scattered replies ("Yes, Jackson." "Finally, something to do!") and the sound of footsteps could be heard as the mysterious group took their leave.

"Where are they going?" Caboose asked.

Tucker was determined to find out, hurrying out from behind the crates to follow them. Dallas remained motionless, his mind reeling with questions about the little information they had heard from their not-so-friendly-friends.

"They just...vanished..." Tucker said, his disappointment over losing their enemies' trail mixed with the confusion at their quick departure.

"Vanished?" Simmons asked.

"They said something about us," Grif pointed out.

"I heard one of them mention Locus." Tucker continued. "They must be Feds. Though, they didn't look like the other soldiers who attacked us in the canyon..."

"Not to mention, they know we're on our way." Dallas couldn't mask the uneasiness in his voice. "Is anyone else concerned as to how they are aware of this information, when the only one people who know where we're headin' are the ones located in the New Republic?"

Everyone grew silent as Dallas's implications began to sink in. "Yes, ahhh, I am concerned that....I am not concerned." Caboose said, breaking the silence.

"You think someone might have tipped them off?" Simmons asked. "Or maybe one of them was spying on us and we didn't know it?"

"Wait, what if they didn't even mean US when they said Reds and Blues?" Grif suggested. "I mean...they have Sarge and the others at the base, so maybe those guys were talking about them instead?"

"But none of them are BLUE," Simmons pointed out. "I mean...maybe they meant Wash, but his armor was black the last time we saw him."

"In any case, we shouldn't stay here and waste our time considerin' the possibilities," Dallas interrupted. "They could be back, possibly with reinforcements."

"Well, I think we should hurry up and finish refueling the cars, and haul ass to the Fed's base before we run into anyone else." Tucker turned back to the station. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we find Wash and the others, and the sooner we can figure out what the fuck is going on around here!"

"Our tank is full," Simmons said, as the group followed their leader back to the Warthogs. "We're ready to go when you are."

"Did we finish looting the place?" Tucker asked.

"Well, I was in the middle of collectin' the necessary supplies when Grif and I were...suddenly distracted," Dallas explained. “We found a corpse in one of the bathroom stalls, and I’d say it’s a safe bet that those soldiers we overheard had somethin’ to do with it.”

“What?” Tucker started at him for a moment, before shaking his head and letting out an annoyed huff. "Ugh, whatever... just go grab what you already had and let's just get out of here!"

Dallas could tell Tucker was a lot more on edge as they hurried to finish preparing the vehicles for the rest of their trip. Dallas didn't blame him in the slightest, and he certainly didn't blame Grif nor Simmons for being just as on edge as they finally pulled away from the fueling station.

The Feds, or SOMEONE, knew they were coming. Which meant anything could happen to Washington and the others in the time it took them to reach the base. They could be killed, or transferred to another base before they got there, or a unknown number of other terrible possibilities could unfold. And there was still the mystery of how the Feds, or whoever, knew of their plans in the first place...

"Dallas?" Caboose asked, interrupting his thoughts. "I could not help but notice that you found jerky, and I would very much like a piece. If it is not the spicy kind."

With a sigh, he handed Caboose one of the bags of jerky he had managed to grab in their hurry (which Caboose took gleefully) before he leaned back and watched the landscape pass around them, silently envying his teammate's blissful ignorance as the group continued on towards their destination.


	24. Part 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, bad news is that Felix’s scene had to be pushed back to the next chapter. Good news is...Felix is in the next chapter. Better news is that a few people will finally be making a reappearance. Also yes, before you ask, that ice cream thing is a reference to the blooper.

The rest of their journey to the base went without a hitch.

They had arrived at the massive structure within hours after their little pit stop, located in an area that was covered in a thick blanket of snow ("You see, THIS is what I was talking about before! Giant snow fortress!" Grif had said upon their arrival. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure there's not some magical snow queen or Alliance inside waiting for us," had been Tucker's response.) and they had managed to approach the base without attracting the Feds' attention.

The only remaining obstacle that kept them from reuniting with their friends was the task of figuring out a way inside the base.

"What if we tried scalin' the walls?" Dallas suggested, his gaze travelling up and down the frozen wall beside them.

"Nah, that's too smart," Tucker said. "Think dumber. Think of something so dumb, the Feds won't expect it."

"We could just knock," Grif said sarcastically.

"TOO dumb," Tucker said.

"Yeah, I know, it was a joke," Grif explained.

"What if we... melted the door?" Caboose asked. "Like evil ice cream? Or evil snowmen... MADE of ice cream! They are evil because the ice cream is strawberry. You cannot trust strawberry ice cream!"

"Wait a second..." Tucker said thoughtfully. "Caboose might be onto something there."

"Wh-I'm right?!" Caboose clapped his hands together joyfully. "Yes, I win!"

"Tucker... what are you talkin' about?" Dallas asked with slight concern.

"I'm talking about melting our way into the base!" Tucker explained.

"Melt our way in?" Grif asked. "Dude, that sounds fucking stupid."

"EXACTLY!" Tucker said. "Damn, never thought I'd say it, but smart thinking, Caboose!"

"Well, it's just nice to be appreciated for my hard work," Caboose responded with pride.

"Well, how exactly do we plan on meltin' our way in?" Dallas asked. "It's below freezin' out here."

"What about friction?" Tucker suggested. "I've been told I can start a fire between a woman's legs! Bow chicka bow wow."

"That's because you're probably giving them an STD," Grif muttered.

Dallas cleared his throat loudly, as if to cut off any further input to that topic of conversation. "That, uh, method would prove to be ineffective in this kind of weather, anyway."

"Yeah, it's gotta be, like... negative-forty degrees Celsius out here," Simmons said.

Everyone but Dallas turned their heads towards Simmons, confused by his statement. "Uh, what?" Tucker asked.

"Negative-forty degrees Celsius?" Simmons repeated.

This did nothing to ease the group's confusion. "Still lost, Simmons," Grif said.

"Doesn't anyone here know to convert Celsius into Fahrenheit?" Simmons asked.

"I do," Dallas said.

Simmons looked at him. "Well, of course YOU do. I was more talking about... them." He made a wide gesture towards the rest of the group with his hands. "You know, the people who don't have a doctorate and technically don't have to know this kind of stuff, but probably should because they're all adults?"

"Ah, my mistake," Dallas said.

"Wow, feeling the love there, Simmons," Grif muttered. "Why not just come out and call us idiots while you're at it?"

"I prefer the term Idiot-American," Caboose said.

"Well, how can you not know how to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit?!" Simmons asked.

"Uh, because we're not huge nerds," Tucker said. "Why would anyone need to know that?"

"Nearly country on Earth uses Celsius!" Simmons responded.

"Yeah, well we're not on Earth, are we?" Grif asked. "And even if we were, who the fuck cares? Just say it in American so we understand."

"Whatever your preferred measurement, it's still below freezin'," Dallas informed them. "As I said before, friction would prove to be ineffective due to the temperature. It would take a powerful amount just to create a dent in ice this thick."

"Oh, wait, I have an idea!" Tucker exclaimed suddenly.

Dallas frowned. "If you make a single joke involvin' my use of the word ‘thick’ and your genitalia—"

"Okay, again, 'dick' works just fine, dude. It's not gonna jump out and bite you if you call it a dick." Tucker pulled a small object off the hip of his armor and, with a flick of his wrist, his glowing sword appeared. "And as tempting as that joke is, I think THIS is probably a better idea."

Before the others could question his actions, he sank the blade deep into the ice beneath their feet and a sizzling noise could be heard as the energy's heat melted away its surroundings.

"That's...actually not a bad idea, Tucker," Dallas said, sounding impressed.

"But is it WORKING?" Simmons asked.

As if to answer his question, the ice around the sword suddenly gave way and the five of them tumbled down into an unknown area below. Dallas landed with a thump onto the cold, snowy ground several feet below the hole they had fallen through, and was grateful their landings had been, for the most part, soft.

"Is everyone okay?" Tucker asked, standing up from the spot where he landed.

Dallas stood up from his own spot, and did a quick check of himself. No sprains or broken bones to be found. "Yes, I'm fine."

"I think I landed on something hard," Grif said with a groan.

"You landed on me!" Simmons said, as he attempted to pull his legs out from beneath Grif. "Get off!"

Grif rolled his eyes. "Oh, my mistake. I landed on a hard ASS."

"Would you two just get up?" Dallas asked, helping Caboose to his feet.

Grumbling, Simmons managed to free his legs and stood up, brushing the snow off his armor as Grif followed suit. "So, where are we anyway?" Simmons asked, his gaze travelling around the area where they'd fallen.

"Hey, what was that noise?!" Everyone froze as a new voice echoed through the nearby tunnels, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching their location.

"If I had to take a guess, I'd say we're now inside the base," Dallas said in a hushed tone.

"We need to hide!" Simmons whispered frantically.

"Tucker, what's the plan?" Dallas asked.

"Uh...well, I'll be honest, I didn't think this far ahead... " Tucker admitted, as the stranger rambled on cheerfully about how much closer he was getting to them.

"You don't have a plan?!" Simmons asked.

"I was just winging it!" Tucker explained.

"Well, you couldn't 'wing' a plan, too?!" The tone of Simmons's voice was at a pitch that would make Washington blush.

"You know, when you said we should do somethin' stupid, I was hopin' that you at least had a plan in mind," Dallas said, racking his brain for a possible solution to their issue.

They didn't have enough time to climb back out the hole they fell through, and there was nothing they could hide behind in the room. There was a series of pipes on the left wall, but no openings that could lead to another place where they would be safe until the soldier was gone. There was another tunnel that led in the opposite direction, but they didn't know what or who could be waiting for them—

"I have a plan."

It was Grif who spoke up, and all heads turned towards him in genuine surprise as the footsteps grew louder and the soldier got more vocal about just how close he was. "You have a plan, Grif?" Simmons asked.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Grif asked.

"Well, hurry up and tell us what it is!" Tucker demanded.

Grif shook his head. "Alright, just hold still for a second."

\-------------------

"This is ridiculous."

"That's what you said about our superpower game," Grif said.

"And it was ridiculous," Dallas repeated. "But not quite as ridiculous as the idea of usin' a snowman as a method of camouflage."

"At least we are not evil strawberry snowman," Caboose said. "Those are the worst kind."

"Everyone just shut up and hold still!" Tucker hissed.

The group fell silent as the soldier finally turned into their section of the tunnel, and Dallas held his breath as the soldier's footsteps approached the spot where Grif had constructed snowmen around their suits of armor. There was no way a plan this asinine could possibly work! Dallas had grown accustomed to a certain brand of (in their own words) stupidity from the Reds and Blues over the time he'd spent with them, but this was really pushing the envelope—

"Well, I'll be! Someone's gone and made a group of friendly snowmen!" The soldier said cheerfully. "You fellas wouldn't happen to be the ones making all that racket, would you?"

Well, Dallas had been wrong before.

The dim-witted soldier chuckled to himself. "Well, as long as I'm here, I might as well get some target practice in—"

His words were cut off by the sound of Tucker's sword activating and (Dallas assumed, for the snow blocked his field of vision) impaling the soldier through the gut.

"But... why, snowman?" The man choked out, followed by the sound of his lifeless body hitting the ground.

Tucker stepped out of the ruined snowman, and eyed the dead soldier on the ground as the others brushed away the snow around them. "Wow, Grif, I can't believe that worked!"

"You're welcome," Grif said.

"I must admit, I honestly didn't believe it would," Dallas said, pulling his legs out of the bottom part of his snowman.

"I used this trick all the time back in Blood Gulch," Grif explained. "Whenever Sarge wanted me to do something, I'd just hide inside a snowman and pretend I couldn't hear him."

"You built a snowman in the middle of a hot canyon?" Dallas asked, perplexed.

"Hey, I never said it was a GREAT plan," Grif said. "But since there's actually snow here, I figured it would probably work a lot better then it usually does."

"Well, the good news is that it worked," Simmons said, as the group continued forward. "The better news is that the tunnel ends up ahead, and the entrance to the detention facility is a short walk away."

"And the bad news?" Dallas asked.

Simmons stopped and pointed out through the exit of the tunnel. Several yards from their location was another entrance into the base; the entrance to the detention facility if Simmons's information was accurate. "The distance from here to there is out in the open, where it would be easy for the Feds to spot us."

"Couldn't we just bolt when they're not looking?" Tucker asked.

"There's too many of them," Dallas said, noticing how many guards were currently patrolling the area. "We'd never reach the facility without attractin' some kind of attention."

"So, what, we give up and go back?" Grif asked.

Dallas turned to him. "We're a stone's throw from our destination, and you want to turn back now?"

"Trust me, it's never too late to back out of doing something," Grif said.

Dallas shook his head. "That's highly debatable."

"Well, we can't just leave now!" Tucker said. "We just need to... get the guards away from where we need to go!"

"So, how do we do that?" Simmons asked.

Tucker paused to think. "There were some pipes back in the room we fell in, and they looked pretty important. Maybe... if we fuck them up and haul ass, we can make it to the prison while the guards are busy fixing them?"

"Ugh, we'll have to run?" Grif asked.

"We'll have to try," Tucker said. "What's the worst that could happen? We just end up in prison with Wash and the others, and figure out a plan from the inside."

"...Or we get shot," Simmons pointed out.

Tucker was silent for a moment, before he turned to Dallas. "What do you think, Dallas? Good idea? Bad idea?"

"It sounds dangerous," Dallas admitted. "But so did the other plans that led us all the way here, so I see no reason to change our tactics now."

"Sounds like a yes to me." Tucker had already turned back towards the inside of the tunnel. "Come on, Caboose. I need your help with something."

"I am going to clean the pipes!" Caboose exclaimed.

"What about the rest of us?" Simmons asked.

"Wait until you see the guards leave, then fucking book it!" Tucker ordered, as he and Caboose headed back to the aforementioned pipes.

After Dallas watched them go, he turned back to face the cave exit once more as he and the Red Team waited for the opportunity to run. He could hear Grif mumbling irritably about the fact that they would have exert themselves to reach their destination, but Dallas wouldn't have cared if they had to run a mile to reach the detention facility. Washington and the others were so close...

The sound of the base's alarm pulled Dallas out of his thoughts, and he could see the Feds hurrying off in another direction in response to the sound. Tucker and Caboose had succeeded in distracting them away from the prison.

Simmons had already started sprinting ahead. "Come on, let's go!"

Tucker and Caboose were already racing back to rejoin the group, and Dallas took this as a sign to start running. He rushed out of the cave after Simmons, while Grif and the Blues brought up the rear as they approached the metal door to the prison; the final obstacle that separated them from their friends. Dallas slowed to a stop near Simmons as the others caught up. "We'd better hurry up before the guards come back," Dallas said.

Simmons pointed at the small computer on the wall beside the door. "We need a code!"

"Can't you just hack it?" Tucker asked, while Grif attempted to catch his breath.

"Hack it?" Simmons asked. "What makes you think I know how to hack a door?"

"Well, I mean... you're the smart guy," Tucker pointed out.

"Oh, yeah, because I'm the smart one of the group, I'm expected to know how to hack on command," Simmons said. "I don't have the proper materials to do something like that, or the time!"

"What about Dallas?" Caboose asked. "Dallas is very good with computers! He made Church, and then he made Church again, and then he was Freckles's doctor—"

"Fine, let me see what I can do," Dallas said, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he stepped towards the keypad.

Any minute now they would be reunited with Washington and the others again. All the guilt Dallas had felt about leaving the Freelancer behind, all the worry he had gone through over their fates... It would finally be over.

Before his fingertips could even touch the keypad, the door raised open on its own and the group raised their guns instinctively, ready to defend themselves from any Feds if necessary. Dallas wasn't about to let anyone stop them now, not after they had come so far—

"Dallas? Tucker?"

Dallas felt a chill that had nothing to do with the area's climate spread throughout his body and the group dropped their weapons in stunned silence as they stood face-to-face with Agent Washington and the remaining soldiers of Red Team.


	25. Part 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War.”_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, remember how I said I’ve been excited to write this chapter/the chapter with Felix’s reveal? Well, now you get to find out why. Also this is the longest chapter to date because Felix doesn’t know what ‘shut up’ means. I’m very tired.

"Wait, so the Feds are just as helpless as the New Republic?" Tucker asked. "We thought they were all evil and shit."

"Well, I know a fainthearted general and an over-eccentric doctor who'd prove otherwise," Washington said. "And from what you've told us about the New Republic, I think we might be caught in the middle of a misunderstanding between the two armies."

"The Rebels were getting screwed over by the government," Grif said. "Doesn't seem like there's much to misunderstand there."

"Well, according to the Federal Army, the New Republic has attacked the capitol on multiple occasions," Washington pointed out. "So neither side is necessarily guilt-free. What we should do is get the generals together for a meeting and see if they can come to some kind of understanding."

"Agent Washington, please tell me I am not alone in thinkin' that this whole situation feels...wrong," Dallas said in a low voice, as he thought back to the soldiers at the gas station.

"Believe me, Dallas, everything about this seems wrong," Washington said. "But I think the best thing we can do right now is get the generals together and work out a plan from there."

Dallas shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that. I mean, we were told that the four of you were bein' held prisoner by the Feds, and you were told that the Rebels were a terrorist group who were plannin' on recruitin' us to THEIR army. Those are some fairly large accusations, and yet, here were all are; neither prisoners nor terrorists. There's propaganda, and then there's...this."

"Dallas has a point," Tucker said. "How could BOTH armies be that wrong about what was going on? I mean, yeah, they hate each other, but still...this seems kind of weird."

"Maybe they were like us," Simmons suggested. "I mean, we fought each other for YEARS before we learned that we were actually part of a simulation."

"Those were the good ol' days," Sarge said fondly.

"Quizás para usted, [Maybe for you,]" Lopez muttered less-than-fondly.

"Yes, but all of you were being MANIPULATED by the Director into fighting each other," Washington pointed out.

"Hold on a moment, Agent Washington..." Dallas said thoughtfully. "What did you just say?"

Washington sighed. "Look, Dallas, I know we have our truce, but—"

"Oh, no, I'm not bothered by your comment," Dallas explained hastily. "I simply wish for you to repeat what you said about manipulation."

Dallas's less-than-hostile tone surprised Washington, but he obeyed his request: "I said the Reds and Blues were being manipulated by an outside source. Which was, let's be honest, you. Again, I know it's not the best time to bring this up, but—"

"It's fine," Dallas assured him, for something had clicked in his mind upon hearing such a statement.

Manipulation... An outside source...

His thoughts drifted to the men at the gas station, and their conversation with Locus. Locus... "Agent Washington, who told you that the Rebels were recruitin' us for their army?" Dallas asked.

Washington thought for a moment. "General Doyle, I think."

"Do you know where or how HE got this information?" Dallas asked. "Was it another person?"

"Do you guys hear that?" Simmons asked, before Washington could respond.

The group paused to listen, but there were no sounds to be heard. "Uhhh, no," Tucker said. "What are we supposed to be listening to?"

"Simmons, are you alright?" Donut asked.

"Of course he isn't," Sarge said. "He's spent so long with Grif and the Blues, that now he's talking all loco-hot-cocoa!"

"I'm fine, Sarge!" Simmons insisted. "I was just pointing out how quiet it is now."

There was another pause as the other soldiers realized that Simmons was correct; the alarm that had been previously blaring above them was now silent.

"Where did the alarms go?" Tucker asked. 

"Come on, let's go find out," Washington ordered, and gestured for the others to follow him out of the detention facility and back out into the snow.

The area surrounding the base was not only as quiet as the inside, it was eerily quiet. Aside from the wind that blew around them while snow decorated the land, there was no sound anywhere. The guards had not returned from their task of repairing the pipes Tucker and Caboose destroyed but it was obvious that someone had come along while the Reds and Blues were inside the detention facility. Most of the vehicles had been flipped over and the ground was littered with weapons.

The sight did nothing to ease Dallas's suspicions about Locus, and he attempted to organize his thoughts while Washington called for any Feds that might possibly still be around ("Dr. Grey?" Anybody?!").

Washington and the Reds claimed that the Federal Army were simply trying to protect themselves from terrorists. And while spending time with them over the past week would obviously result in some kind of bias, Dallas knew Agent Washington was not a fool and while he had his moments of recklessness, he would not be so quick to pass such judgement in a situation like this. If he believed the Feds were not malicious (or at the very least, as not malicious as an army could be during a time of war) then Dallas trusted him.

But then there was the matter of the soldiers at the gas station. The ones who had likely killed the unknown person at the gas station. They had known that Dallas and the others were coming to the Feds' base, because of Locus. He was clearly not in the same boat as the rest of the Federal Army, and seemed to have his own group of soldiers at his beck and call. But for what purpose? And how had he known that they were coming? Dallas knew he was missing something, just a single crucial fact that would bring the entire puzzle together...

His train-of-thought was derailed by crackling static from one of the nearby cars. Faint cries of distress could be heard over the radio, many of which were abruptly cut off by the sound of gunshot.

"What the Hell is going on around here?" Tucker asked, horrified.

"Sarge, we'll need a vehicle!" Washington said. "We're under attack!"

"Way ahead of you!" Sarge had already taken control of one of the few vehicles that had not been flipped, and was now seated at the wheel while Donut and Lopez were situated in the back.

"Good. The three of you go on ahead and establish a perimeter," Washington ordered. "We're right behind you."

"Can do, Wash!" Donut called cheerfully as the trio headed away from the base.

Washington led the group as they followed after the vehicle, which sailed over the nearest hill and stopped at the base. Dallas tried to recollect his thoughts as they prepared for a possible attack, but the addition of four voices to the group and the sounds of gunfire and screams in the distance made it difficult to focus on anything but the task at hand.

Simmons pointed a finger towards a figure that had rounded the corner near the opposite end of the base. "Someone's coming!"

"It's just one of the Feds," Donut said, sounding relieved.

"Uh, that might be good news for you guys, but he doesn't know us," Grif pointed out, with a gesture towards himself, Simmons, and the Blues.

"Yeah, what if he tries to shoot us?" Tucker asked.

"He won't," Washington assured them. "Not while you're with us."

The soldier came to a sudden halt in front of Sarge and paused for a moment to catch his breath. "Thank goodness you're here, sir! You have to help us!"

"What's the matter, son?" Sarge asked.

"They just came out of nowhere," the soldier explained. "Took out most of my squad!"

"Who, the rebels?" Donut asked.

The soldier shook his head. "No, it's not them!”

"Well, good!" Sarge said. "Because we kinda just found out they're not all that bad. Boy, are you gonna laugh when you hear the story!"

"It's not them!" The soldier repeated, his tone frantic. "It's—” 

However, before the soldier could reveal the identities of his attackers, a shot from a distant source hit his body and the Reds and Blues could only watch in horror as he disintegrated into millions of tiny pieces before their eyes. Dallas actually jumped back when the deceased soldier's gun dropped to the snow near his feet.

"Did...everyone else see that?" Dallas asked in a horrified tone.

"You mean a man disintegrating right in front of us?" Grif asked.

"Oh, so it wasn't just me?" Tucker sounded relieved. "Thank god. I thought this cold weather was fucking with my head."

"We have to do something!" Simmons exclaimed, as the mixed sounds of gunshots and screams echoed in the distance.

"Running counts as something," Grif said. "I think we should try that."

"Everyone just calm down and let me think for a second," Washington said. "Dallas, did the Rebels teach you how to aim while you were with them? We might need to fight our way out of this."

"Guys!" Caboose interrupted, a finger extended towards the vehicle. "There's a blinking spider on the car."

"Blinking spi—" Dallas's voiced trailed off as the group followed Caboose's gaze to the car's windshield, where a small, metal object with a blinking, red light now rested.

"Get away from the car!" Washington ordered frantically.

Dallas followed Tucker and Caboose as they hurried away from the warthog, and the group managed to escape the blast radius mere seconds before the grenade detonated and left a smoldering pile of metal in the car's place. They backed towards a tall platform that extended from the detention facility, guns raised as they scoured the area for the source of the attack.

"What the hell is going on around here?" Washington demanded to know. 

"Whatever it is, it's definitely not the Rebels," Simmons said.

"And this sure as heck ain't the Feds' doing, either," Sarge said.

"Well, if it's not the Rebels or the Feds, then who is it?" Tucker asked.

As if to answer Tucker's question, a red beam suddenly appeared on the chest piece of Dallas's armor. Dallas froze, as several beams also appeared on each member of the group. Most of them lowered their weapons, dead silent as the sound of footsteps could be heard against the metal stairs that connected to the platform, though no person could be seen. It was as if the person descending the staircase was...

"Like sheep to the pen," a deep voice said over the sound of the falling snow and the footsteps.

_Invisible..._

The footsteps stopped and a familiar suit of black-and-green armor materialized on the platform above their heads. "You're ready for slaughter."

"Oh, no..." Washington said in a low voice.

"Locus!" Tucker immediately raised his gun again.

"I advise you stand down," Locus said. "You're outnumbered and outmatched."

"Outnumbered?" Tucker asked.

"Yes, outnumbered," Locus repeated, as several soldiers materialized to his left and right, their guns the source of the red beams aimed at the group.

"The soldiers from the fueling station?" Simmons asked.

"Wait, I thought they were Feds," Grif said.

"They ain't our guys," Sarge said.

Every word spoken further confirmed Dallas's suspicions about Locus and the soldiers at the gas station. But for every question answered, another one was left unanswered. If Locus was working against the Feds, then what were his real plans? Why had they killed the man at the gas station? And how had Locus known they were coming?

Dallas's gaze drifted to Tucker while Locus and Washington exchanged words ("I complete my missions at all costs, Agent Washington. But you, and your comrades have put a blemish on my record." "What the Hell are you talking about?! You just killed the men you're working for!"). He watched as Tucker inconspicuously reached into a pocket on the inside of his armor and, not taking his eyes off the soldiers above them, pulled out a grenade and hide it behind his back. Dallas would have congratulated him for being so prepared, but the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to Tucker and get him killed.

"It appears you don't understand after all," Locus continued. "Unfortunate. You were such a fascinating soldier, Agent Washington."

Dallas immediately raised his gun as Locus raised his, and was prepared to defend Washington if necessary, but someone had already beaten him to the punch. Someone who now stood in front of the group with a glowing, blue light-shield that had blocked the bullet from Locus's gun.

As soon as Felix had darted in front of Washington, a conversation suddenly pushed itself to the forefront of Dallas's mind. A conversation that he and Tucker had shared less than a day ago, and Dallas was surprised he hadn’t remembered it until now:

_“Partners?"_

_"That's what Kimball said. Though she used the term loosely. Turns out Felix and Locus didn't get along even back then."_

Partners... Felix and Locus were partners. And if Locus had plans behind the Federal Army's back, and clearly had plans to kill the Reds and Blues for some unexplained reason, then...

He would have needed them all in one place. And in order to get them in one place, he would have needed to...

"Tucker! Grenade!" Felix ordered, his free hand open.

...be in contact with someone at the Rebels' base. Someone he knew.

"Tucker, n—"

Dallas’s words were a millisecond too late, for the grenade had already left Tucker's hand and now rested comfortably in Felix's. The light-shield dropped, and Dallas felt his stomach follow suit as Felix let out a deep, playful chuckle and stared at the grenade in his hand.

"Man, that was CLOSE!" Felix said, the amusement in his voice prominent as he turned to face the group. "Nice throw, Tucker!"

"Felix?" Tucker asked uneasily.

"Question for you, Wash," Felix said, ignoring Tucker. "How many times have I jumped in front of a bullet for you? Two? Three? Man, I have some pretty great reflexes, huh? Most people would have to, you know, plan for that sort of thing. And yet, it's funny how an act of sacrifice like that buys you so much trust. And so _much_ information, too!"

"Felix, are you doing?" Washington asked.

Felix turned his gaze away from the group for a moment, and tossed the grenade up to Locus. "You missed a spot there, Locs."

"Are you done?" Locus asked, unamused as he handed the grenade to the mercenary on his right.

"Oh, not even close," Felix responded smugly, his focus back on the Reds and Blues.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Grif asked.

"Wait, I don't understand," Tucker said. "Aren't the two of you enemies?"

"Even enemies can come together to work towards a greater cause," Dallas spoke up, his voice trembling with anger. "Isn't that right, Felix? You and Locus have been workin' together this entire time."

"What, wait?!" Simmons exclaimed in disbelief.

"Oh, bra-VO!" Felix clapped his hands together in a condescending fashion. "How long did it take you to figure that one out, Dallas?"

"That's none of your concern, you liar," Dallas said bitterly.

Felix snickered. "Aww, that’s cute. I mean, you of all people calling me a liar. It's like 'Hello, Pot. Meet Kettle.' "

Dallas and Washington exchanged a glance. "What are you talkin' about, Felix?"

"Oh, I'll tell you," Felix said playfully, tapping the part of his helmet where his mouth was located. "If you answer a question for me."

"Why should we tell you anything?" Sarge asked aggressively.

"Hey, the longer you talk, the longer you stay alive," Felix pointed out. "I mean, I know you're all idiots but I'm sure you can do the math."

"Felix..." Locus said in a warning tone. "We don't have all day."

Felix waved his hand towards Locus in an attempt to silence him. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Just give me a few, alright?"

"Fine," Washington said. "What do you want to know?"

Felix chuckled and folded his arms. "What exactly happened to the Director of Project Freelancer?"

Dallas froze, and he could hear the other soldiers shift behind him at Felix's question. "Why do you care about the Director?" Tucker asked, dodging the question.

"Yeah, he's dead!" Simmons added nervously.

"Yeahhh, so I've heard," Felix said. "But see, here's the thing: We got this...eh, let's call him a friend, in high places. And while the rest of the galaxy was quick to believe that the old nutjob met his maker, this friend of ours was a bit skeptical. I mean...no one ever found his corpse, and you kind of need a corpse to call a time of death, y'know?"

"We had wounded him to the point where he wouldn't survive for much longer," Washington lied. "But he escaped before we could properly finish him off. We just assumed he eventually died from blood loss."

"Escaped...right. That's...that's funny," Felix said, sounding amused. "But, you know, our friend seemed to think otherwise. They started getting suspicious when the Director's body never turned up. Started thinking the guys who said he was dead were...well, not being very honest."

"Why would they think that?" Tucker asked defensively. "We don't know where the guy is."

"Oh, I think you do," Felix said in an accusatory tone. "And I suppose the fact that you guys just HAPPENED to find one old man around the same time you just HAPPENED to off another is just a coincidence?"

Dallas grew tense. "...What are you tryin' to say, Felix?"

"I mean... It's kinda hard to find a dead body when it was never dead in the first place." Felix's gaze was locked on Dallas, and a sense of foreboding overtook Dallas as he realized what Felix was implying. "Am I right, _Director?"_

Any response Dallas attempted to vocalize died in his throat as he stared at the mercenary before him. An image of Felix's smug grin behind his helmet flashed through his head, likely growing wider and wider with every passing second of silence. Dallas struggled to find some kind of response, or an alibi, something to break the horrible silence. But any response he thought of was immediately followed by an imaginary counterpoint that Felix would likely bring up.

"Aww, no smart response, 'Dallas'?" Felix teased. "By the way, that's a GREAT alias you picked out there. I mean, you make an army of robots with the name Texas and decided 'Hey, why don't I name myself after a city IN Texas?' That's just...man, that's brilliant. And here I thought you were a genius."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Felix!" Tucker said quickly, his voice faltering. "Dallas is—"

"Save it, Tucker," Felix interrupted. "I've known who he really is since the moment I heard his voice. Remember the friend of ours? I believe I've mentioned them. Well, they're actually our employer and they've been dying to get their hands on the Director's body. Just to make absolutely sure that one of the most pathetic men in the galaxy was actually dead. You know, trying to be a good citizen and all?"

"I highly doubt that," Washington said bitterly.

Felix ignored him and continued to speak. "So, when all of you crashed here on Chorus, our friend thought it was the perfect opportunity to not only complete our current mission, but maybe kill the Director as well."

"Yes, I would like to get a jump on both sometime today, Felix," Locus said impatiently. "Wrap it up."

"Take a chill pill," Felix responded with slight annoyance. "I haven't even told them about the rests of our plans."

"What plans?" Sarge asked.

"Glad you asked!" Felix clasped his hands together. "So in order to help us find the Director, our employer gave us all the information they had on the guy. Appearance, voice, anything that might help us recognize him, even in armor. But since he was probably with the rest of you, we couldn't just outright kill him if we found him. I mean, it'd be pretty hard to gain your trust if we offed one of your guys, right?"

"Why would you care if we trusted you?" Washington asked. "Why capture us or get us involved in this war at all?"

"Yeah, it seems like a lot of work just to take out one guy," Simmons pointed out.

"Oh, it's not just him," Felix explained. "As I said before, we'd been working on a mission long before you guys came into the picture, so finding the Director was more of a side-quest thing. You know, a bonus in our original paycheck? See, on top of wanting the Director, our employer also had their eyes on this planet. But not so much the inhabitants. So now it's our job to...well, get rid of them.” 

"So you started the war?" Tucker asked in horrified disbelief. "Just to kill them all off?"

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” Grif added.

"Well, yes and no," Felix said. "Honestly if it were up to me, I wouldn't have even bothered with the war and would have just nuked the planet from orbit. Would have saved a lot of time and energy. But apparently if an entire planet suddenly gets wiped out at once, then people are going to start asking questions. Luckily for us, these people hated each other plenty before we intervened so we just kept the hate train a-goin' to the point where they used that hate to start killing each other. It also helped that, as of late, they were being led by some of the dumbest soldiers in the galaxy."

"Well, I wonder who he could be talking about," Caboose said innocently.

"Like, honestly," Felix continued. "You probably took out about twice as many soldiers than we do on a daily basis, just by being complete idiots! I'm actually kind of impressed. I mean, not impressed enough to not kill you or anything, but-"

"That's enough, Felix!" Locus said angrily. "How many times must I tell you? Monologuing before you kill someone is not only ineffective, but a waste of time! If you really want to make your victim suffer, you do it quickly, and efficiently!"

Felix scoffed. "Fine. I was almost done anyway."

Locus shook his head and turned his attention back to the Reds and Blues. "And as for all of you, there will be no rescue for you. You will die here, today, along with the rest. No one will find your bodies, no one will know the truth, and no one is going to stop us from killing every last person on this planet!"

"Alright, that's all I need to hear," a new voice interrupted.

Dallas had been speechless during Felix's entire monologue, every part of him numb from shock as he listened to word after horrible word of Felix and Locus's plans. But an all-too-familiar voice from the mercenary to Locus's left managed to snap him out of his daze and he watched as Tucker's grenade fell from her hand and towards the platform before their feet.

"NO!" Locus shouted, as the mercenary leapt off the platform and landed smoothly on the hard ground before the grenade exploded and sent several of the other soldiers flying in different directions.

"What the hell?!" Felix exclaimed. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Kill them!" Locus ordered furiously, as he attempted to regain his footing from the explosion.

The fake mercenary aimed her suppressor at Felix and fired several shots, which were quickly deflected by his light-shield. One stray shot bounced back and knocked the weapon from her hand, which landed at Grif's feet.

"Grif, grab that and start shooting!" Washington ordered, already firing at one of the few soldiers not affected by the grenade blast.

While the Reds and Blues busied themselves with attacking the mercenaries, Dallas kept a close eye on the one currently in the middle of a fight with Felix. Her voice, her posture, her style of fighting...

The style that had secured her position at the topic of the Freelancer leaderboard for a long time...

"You think you're fast?" Felix taunted her, as he dodged her fists with ease.

"Faster than you," Carolina replied in a smug tone, and knocked him to the ground with a swift kick to his abdomen.

"Ow, god damn it!" Felix hissed in pain as he quickly pulled himself to his feet. "Well, let's see just how fast you really are."

Before she could respond, Felix pulled a knife out of the side of his armor and sank the blade into her left leg.

"NO!” Dallas momentarily forgot about anything else that was happening around them and practically lunged himself at Felix, fueled by an overwhelming amount of anger. 

But Felix had taken advantage of his opponent's moment of weakness to kick her towards the Reds and Blues, which knocked both her and Dallas to the ground. "Locus, hurry up and shoot them!" he called up to his partner.

Dallas eyed the now-bleeding wound in Carolina's leg with great concern. "We need to get out of here, now!"

Carolina reached into her armor and pulled out a glowing, orange cube. One similar to the cubes they had used back in the canyon to teleport Dos.0. "Everyone stay close!" she ordered.

"Wait, stop-"

Dallas barely had time to process the sound of an unfamiliar voice over the gunshots that echoed around them before Carolina slammed the cube to the ground and everything went black.


	26. Part 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War.”_
> 
>  
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than it should have, simply for the fact that a lot happened to me this month (convention, girlfriend moving in with me, just being overwhelmed with writing in general) and my motivation kind of came and went at the most random of times. Plus there's the fact I was writing three new characters that made this incredibly challenging (well, I did write Epsilon and Carolina in the first chapter but it was for a brief scene so it was still a challenge). But hey, now Dr. Grey has joined the party, so I'm excited about that!

Dallas had never traveled via teleportation cube before, but it was certainly not something he would recommend after the group's quick escape from the Federal Army's base.

The trip had been instantaneous, but it had left Dallas's insides spinning and he immediately dropped to his knees once his boots touched dirt again. And judging by the collective groans from the other soldiers around him as he fought back the urge to be sick, they seemed to share his levels of discomfort.

"That was fucking terrible," Tucker groaned.

"Hoo boy, was THAT an uncomfortable ride or what?" Donut said. "My insides really took a pounding!"

"You know what, Donut?" Grif asked. "For once, I completely agree with you."

Carolina let out a soft chuckle as she rose to her feet, her black suit of armor dissolving into its usual turquoise. "You know, I never thought I'd be happy to see you idiots again."

"Carolina?!" Tucker exclaimed in shock.

Dallas's gaze drifted to Carolina's injured leg, and hatred towards Felix surged through him as his eyes landed on the knife wound in her armor. He pulled himself to his feet as well, and started to approach her. "Carolina, you're injured."

A floating, blue figure appeared in front of Carolina, his arms extended in a protective fashion despite the fact that his holographic form would do little to keep Dallas at bay. "Hey, back off, asshole. She doesn't need any help from _you_."

"Church!" Caboose exclaimed happily. "You are back!"

Epsilon gave his team a casual wave, but didn't move from the spot where he currently hovered. "I said, _back off_."

"Epsilon, I mean no harm," Dallas tried to explain. "I simply wish to assist Carolina—"

"Yeah, why is it that I have a hard time believing that?" Epsilon asked.

"I'm fine," Carolina assured them. "The bastard just caught me off guard, is all. Didn't expect him to have a hidden knife."

"You heard her," Epsilon said fiercely. "She doesn't need you."

Dallas had expected Epsilon and Carolina to greet him with malice when they were finally reunited, so he was not surprised by the AI's hostility, nor was he particularly bothered by it. He didn't blame him in the slightest for acting in such a manner and he was certainly not about to make him or Carolina do anything outside of their comfort zones. The last thing he wanted to do was give either of them a reason to further distrust him.

But he also wasn't about to let Carolina's wound grow worse simply because the two of them distrusted him to the point of refusing his help when it was needed. If Washington had continued to refuse his help back in the canyon, it would have probably taken them a lot longer to repair the communications tower. Not that it mattered much in retrospect, but Carolina was actually injured and their current situation was a lot more severe.

"Carolina, your leg will most likely get infected if left unchecked," Dallas pointed out. 

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I've had worse injuries than this."

"You had a knife in your leg!" Dallas said. "Look, I know you probably still don't trust me enough to assist you with your injury, and I completely respect that, but since I'm the only one here with medical expertise—"

"That's not entirely true."

A new voice interrupted the conversation, and all three of them turned to see an unfamiliar woman with white-and-purple armor, a suit that matched those of the Federal soldiers the mercenaries had taken out, standing before them. "Perhaps I could be of some assistance? I am a doctor, too."

Dallas eyed her suspiciously. "Who are you?"

She let out a giddy laugh. "Whoopsie, forgot to introduce myself! I'm Dr. Emily Grey; doctor for the Federal Army. Or, well, guess I _was_ a doctor for them. Now I'm kinda here with all of you, and ooh boy, do I have some questions!"

"As do I," Dallas said, not taking his eyes off her as he stepped closer to Carolina. "Startin' with: how do I know you can be trusted after all that just went down back there? I'm not too thrilled about the idea of someone we just met operatin' on Carolina."

"Hey, don't act like you're in charge of what happens to her," Epsilon told him. "I'd trust a random doctor to help her before I'd trust you!"

"Epsilon, please...I just don't want her to end up with another knife in her leg," Dallas explained.

"I don't need a doctor, I'm fine," Carolina insisted.

"I understand not trusting someone you just met, especially after what just happened," Dr. Grey said. "But you should know that after seeing most of my friends murdered by people under the control of someone I thought _I_ could trust, I have absolutely no desire to betray anyone who might be in the same boat as me. And at the moment, that's all of you."

Dallas pondered this for a moment before he looked back at Carolina. "Would you be willin' to let her take a look at your leg? Just to make sure it's not serious and to clean the wound?"

Carolina exhaled heavily as she considered the idea. "We have a lot to talk about, and probably not a lot of time to do it—"

"I can confirm that we absolutely do not have a lot of time to do it," Epsilon said, flickering out of sight for a moment before he reappeared near Carolina's left shoulder.

"Exactly," Carolina said. "So I'd rather not waste the time we do have waiting for a doctor to tell me what I already know: I'm fine."

"Please, Carolina?" It was not Dallas who asked this, but Agent Washington. "Dallas has a point about your injury getting infected. And after everything we just went through, we're all going to need to be on our A game while we figure out what to do next."

Carolina stared at him for a moment, before she shook her head and sighed in defeat. "Alright, fine, she can take a look. Let's just make this quick, okay?"

"I only need a few minutes," Dr. Grey assured her.

Dallas stepped out of the way so Dr. Grey could approach Carolina, and everyone was silent for a moment as she focused on the knife wound. Dallas was positive the injury was minor, or as minor as a knife to the leg could possibly be, since Carolina seemed to stand without much issue. 

And yet he could feel the worry that had overtaken him when he first saw Felix plunge the blade into her leg returning as Dr. Grey's silence grew longer and longer. Not to mention, he knew Carolina. The girl who had demanded two AIs in her head at once, then proceeded to leave the hospital early to challenge Agent Texas to a losing battle. She was a powerful and amazing soldier, but she was about as stubborn as Texas...as _Allison_ had been and had no qualms about putting her own life in danger in order to come out on top.

And her stubbornness had only increased over the past several years due to the things he had put her through at Project Freelancer (it had been a while since he'd felt the Project Freelancer guilt overwhelm him, but it still hurt just as strongly as before), so he was worried that she might be downplaying the seriousness of her injuries.

"Well, the good news is that it isn't fatal," Dr. Grey finally said. "Luckily, he missed your femoral artery."

"I told you I was fine," Carolina said.

"No, sweetie. You had a knife inside you," Dr. Grey explained. "That's the opposite of fine."

"Call me 'sweetie' again, and there's going to be a knife inside of you," Carolina said.

"Carolina..." Dallas said in a warning tone.

"Don't 'Carolina' her like she has to listen to you," Epsilon hissed.

Dr. Grey chuckled. "Ooh, I'm sensing a lot of tension here. I'd _love_ to psychoanalyze all of you."

"Just focus on my leg, please," Carolina said.

"Will she be okay?" Dallas asked.

"She'll be just fine," Dr. Grey assured him sweetly. "Just make sure she doesn't put any additional strain on the leg or the wound might reopen."

"Don't tell him what she should or shouldn't do," Epsilon said defensively. "She can take care of herself."

"Thank you, Epsilon," Carolina said.

"I mean, yeah, she got stabbed, but still, everyone makes mistakes," Epsilon added.

Carolina stared at him, a look of both amusement and slight annoyance likely resting beneath her helmet. "Well, maybe if _someone_ had remembered to account for hidden blades, I wouldn't have gotten stabbed."

"Hey, I may be an AI, but I'm not perfect," Epsilon reminded her. "I mean, look at who made me."

"So, since the wound's all patched up, maybe someone could introduce me to the tiny ghost man?" Dr. Grey asked hopefully, her gaze locked on Epsilon.

"Oh, that is Church!" Caboose said cheerfully. "He is a tinier version of Church who is based off Dallas!"

"We know, it's complicated," Tucker added.

"Okay, why the fuck do you keep calling him Dallas?" Epsilon demanded to know. "Carolina and I heard him use that name during his transmission to Donut, and Felix called him that, too. So what's the deal?" He paused for a moment as he examined Dallas closer. "Hold on, is that _my_ color on his armor?!"

"The stripes thing was Washington's idea," Tucker said.

"It was a spur-of-the-moment idea," Washington explained. "We were in the middle of a talk before we got separated, and it was the only color available."

"Wash, what the fuck?!" Epsilon said angrily. "I mean, new name? Adding _my_ colors to his armor? Sounds like you're getting awfully buddy-buddy with him!"

"Epsilon, I highly doubt Wash of all people would be willing to do that," Carolina said.

"I can assure you that Agent Washington gave me nothin' but Hell back in that canyon for several weeks," Dallas spoke up. "The only time we came close to some kind of truce is when we were under attack, and that was the time he gave my armor the accents. As a symbol of temporary peace between us until we were all safe. And after that, we were separated until we found each other at the Federal Army's base.

"Yeah, Wash was a total asshole to Dallas," Tucker added. "Blaming him for stuff that wasn't his fault, making him exercise... I mean he made us all exercise, which sucked. But he was always harder on Dallas."

"I wouldn't say I was being an asshole," Washington said. "But I won't pretend I didn't have a bias towards him at the time, and I definitely did make him train with Tucker and Caboose. Believe me, Epsilon, we are far from being friends."

Epsilon seemed caught off-guard by this information. "Oh, well... That still doesn't explain the name thing! What's up with that?"

"While we were attemptin' to radio for help, I decided to use an alias to protect my identity," Dallas explained. "We decided it would be best to use it from that point on, for the same reason. Though...it didn't seem to work as well as I had anticipated."

Dr. Grey had been silent the entire time as she observed their interactions. "Okay, now I DEFINITELY want to psychoanalyze all of you, because it sounds like I've just stumbled upon a goldmine of issues."

"Understatement of the fucking century," Grif said.

Washington shook his head and turned to Dr. Grey. "Okay, I know this all might seem a bit complicated. But basically, Agent Carolina and I were operatives of Project Freelancer. And Church, or Epsilon as he was named when he was created, is an artificial intelligence fragment from the same organization. He was leader of Blue Team for a very long time."

"And by leader, you mean he pretty much just dicked around after our original leader died," Tucker said. "And then he left us when we crash-landed here on Chorus."

"He was the best," Caboose said fondly.

"Hey, fuck you, I was a great leader!" Epsilon said.

"And as for Dallas," Washington continued. "He was the Director of Project Freelancer."

"We kept my identity a secret for obvious reasons," Dallas explained. "But I suppose after recent events, there's no point now."

"The Director of Project Freelancer?" Dr. Grey repeated in an excited tone, with a glance at Dallas. "Oooh, I've heard a lot of stories about you!"

"I'm assumin' that none of those stories are positive," Dallas guessed.

"You're as smart as they say," Dr. Grey said with a laugh. "You've gotten yourself into a LOT of trouble with the UNSC! Though, they also said you were dead. Guess that was one of the few stories that wasn't true, huh?"

"If it were up to me, he would be," Epsilon said bitterly.

"Carolina decided to bring him along with us," Washington explained. "And we told the press and anyone else we came across he was dead."

"Ohoho, running from the law?" Dr. Grey said playfully. "What a bad boy~!"

"I wouldn't exactly call it runnin'," Dallas explained, as his thoughts drifted back to Felix. "Besides, it's not the lawmakers I'm worried about now. Rather, the ones who are currently breakin' them."

"Yeah, that whole Felix thing was all kinds of fucked up," Tucker said. "Like, did you know he knew who you were? Or any of that other shit?"

Dallas shook his head. "I had my suspicions that _Locus_ had his own agenda outside the Federal Army right before we were surrounded, but it wasn't until I saw Felix that I realized he was involved. And I had no idea he knew who I was until that point."

"Normally I'd say this kind of nonsense was Freelancer stuff," Sarge said. "But I'm looking at the remaining Freelancer people right now, so that idea about as ridiculous as Grif doing something right."

"Fuck you," Grif said in an annoyed tone.

"Unless of course, there's some mystery Freelancer we've never heard of that might come into the picture," Sarge continued. "Like...Agent Utah! Never trusted that damn state...Sounds too close to BLUE-tah!"

"There's no possible way it could be Agent Utah," Dallas said. "...There was a malfunction with his armor enhancement and the end result was not pretty, to say the least."

"Jesus Christ, man, how many Freelancers have you fucked over?!" Grif asked Dallas in disbelief.

"How much time do you have?" Epsilon asked. "Because answering that could take ages. Seriously I'm talking YEARS here!"

"I would take offense to that statement if it weren't so accurate," Dallas admitted. "Let's just leave it at 'too many'."

"Not to mention Project Freelancer is gone," Carolina said. "Washington and I are the only remaining Freelancers and, aside from the mercenaries, the galaxy thinks the Director is dead."

"'Colorful Space Marines Stop Corruption,'" Dr. Grey quoted.

"Excuse me?" Dallas asked.

"It was the name of the news article Locus brought General Doyle when he suggested we find you," Dr. Grey explained. "Though at first, I thought the article was describing your suits of armor. I see now that the author might have had a different meaning behind their wording."

"What I mean is that this is definitely not Project Freelancer's work," Carolina continued. "After the crash, Epsilon and I picked up some transmissions about soldiers selling cloaking armor to others. Sounded fairly suspicious, so we decided to check it out."

"Yeah, I mean, we would have told you," Epsilon said. "But I figured Dallasshole over there would want to come along, so we decided to bail without saying anything."

"It was a lot more complicated than that," Carolina explained. "I did suggest we bring him just so we could keep an eye on him, but Epsilon was against the idea."

"Hey, just because you decided to save him doesn't mean I'm going to deal with any of his bullshit," Epsilon said. "Besides we, or at least I, figured he'd either grow annoyed being around the rest of you or Caboose would shoot him at one point or another."

Dallas frowned at the way Epsilon talked about his team. He could handle any insults the A.I. threw at him, but hearing him insult the rest of the Blues made him feel oddly defensive. That was supposed to be his team, and yet he seemed to be able to toss cruel words at them without an inkling of guilt. And since he was based off Alpha, who had been based off himself...it was like listening to himself tear down people who did not deserve it.

"Oh, well, thanks a lot, asshole!" Tucker said irritably, vocalizing Dallas's thoughts. "Glad to know you think so little of us."

"Hey, it's nothing against you guys," Epsilon said. "I'm just saying that he'd probably get annoyed with constant sex jokes, or Caboose's...Caboose-ness. I'm only sorry that you guys were stuck with him while I was gone. It must have been Hell."

"For you information, Epsilon, I quite enjoyed my time with Tucker and Caboose," Dallas said. "They're not perfect, but their company was appreciated."

"Aww, well, thank you, Dallas," Caboose said sweetly. "We love you too!"

"Well, I wouldn't go THAT far," Tucker said. "But yeah, Dallas is pretty cool."

"The Director? _COOL_?" Epsilon asked in disbelief. "Guys, what the Hell?"

"Hey, at least he didn't leave us in the hands of some crazy ass mercenaries," Tucker said

"I didn't know about the mercenaries until after we had left!" Epsilon pointed out.

"Heh, this is just like watching daytime television," Sarge said with slight amusement.

"Only with more drama," Donut added. "Ooh, maybe next we'll find out Dallas has some long-lost twin brother! An EVIL twin brother!"

"That's highly unlikely," Dallas said. "I was an only child."

"Or maybe his real, REAL name is Horatio!" Sarge added.

"Not a single part of my name is even close to that," Dallas said irritably.

"Or maybe Felix will turn out to be his evil ex!" Donut said.

Dallas forgot his annoyance for a moment upon hearing this guess. "I don't know about any of you, but I certainly would not associate myself romantically with someone like Felix."

"What about Tex?" Tucker asked.

"What about her?" Dallas said. "She may have been a bit...enthusiastic when it came to her job, but she didn't try to wipe out an entire planet just for the sake of a paycheck! Not to mention, well, I technically never dated her..."

"I don't know," Grif said. "She really seemed to enjoy kicking all our asses. And any other places she could kick. My balls are STILL sore to this day, thanks to her."

"And while she didn't wipe out any planets as far as we know, she did seem willing to do pretty much anything else for a paycheck," Simmons pointed out. "Including kill anyone in her way."

"She almost killed me JUST because someone said they'd pay her for it!" Grif added.

"That doesn't automatically make her similar to Felix," Dallas said, tense from the accusations towards Agent Texas. While she had never been a perfect recreation Allison (another familiar sensation of guilt tugged at his insides) it still bothered him when others talked badly about her.

"Can we please return to the issues at hand?" Carolina asked, sounding annoyed. "Like what Epsilon and I discovered after we left the shipwreck?"

"Yes, thank you," Dallas said, grateful for the topic change. "Please, enlighten us."

"Well, we did do some investigating while we were out and about," Epsilon said. "And we found some pretty messed up shit."

"Define 'messed up'," Tucker said.

"The 'abandoned cities and soldiers everywhere' kind of messed up," Epsilon explained. 

"We kept to the shadows and gathered intel on whatever we could," Carolina said, with a look towards Dallas. "And what we found might not make you too happy to hear."

"Hell, _I'm_ not even happy about it," Epsilon said.

"What did you find out?" Dallas asked.

"The equipment the space pirates are using; the lightshields, the camouflage, and anything else they have in their possession are all advanced versions of Freelancer equipment," Carolina explained. "And not only are they producing it on a mass scale, but these versions don't require the use of an AI."

"They're stealin' MY equipment?!" Dallas said angrily, fists clenched.

"That explains why Felix and Locus's technology looked so familiar," Washington said thoughtfully.

"But wait, didn't the UNSC confiscate everything that Project Freelancer created?" Simmons asked. 

"Yes, but they put all of that technology on a ship, which then crashed here on Chorus," Epsilon explained.

"The technology they required just happens to crash land on the planet they're currently settled on?" Dallas asked, arms folded out of anger. "Seems a little too convenient, doesn't it?"

"Our thoughts exactly," Carolina said.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Washington asked.

"Someone wanted our ship to crash," Epsilon said. "Someone who not only wanted the Freelancer equipment for themselves, but managed to make absolutely sure that the same equipment ended up right here on Chorus. These aren't just some common thieves and raiders, they're ORGANIZED."

"And not only that, but they've managed to work their way into our own forces," Carolina said. "So stopping them will not be easy."

"If that's the case..." Dallas said in a thoughtful tone. "That means we have no idea who can or cannot be trusted until they're brought to justice."

"Well, I know who _I_ can't trust," Epsilon said, gaze locked on Dallas. "...But yeah, that's about right."

"Uh, aren't we forgetting about something?" Tucker asked. "There's two armies ready to kill each other because of Locus and Felix. We gotta let them know this is all just a set-up."

"It won't be that simple, Tucker," Dallas said, with a look towards Carolina. "Or else Carolina and Epsilon would have informed us of the mercenaries' plans by now. Am I correct?"

"Trust me, if it were that easy to put a stop to these assholes' plans, we definitely would have rejoined you guys a lot sooner," Epsilon said.

"But don't we have those teleporter cubes?" Tucker asked. "We could use those to get back into the bases and tell the Generals what's going on, no sweat."

"I'm in no hurry to use them again after the strain they put on us last time," Dallas said. "Not to mention, we only have a few left and it would not be wise to waste them without a proper plan."

"Once again, Dallas has the right idea," Epsilon said, before he shook his head and muttered to himself. "Can't believe I'm calling him that...Fucking ridiculous..."

"Not to mention, the mercenaries have been extremely thorough," Carolina pointed out. "Not only do they have a radio jammer set up that only allows broadcasting on certain frequencies, but they monitor all other open channels."

"Epsilon mentioned the two of you overheard our transmission to Donut," Dallas said. "Did Felix or Locus hear the transmission, too?"

"Yes," Carolina answered. "It's how they managed to catch on that you were hiding among the Reds and Blues. And not only did they nearly catch us trying to intercept the transmission, but they managed to trace the call back to our current hideout here."

"And if they've gone through all this trouble to control the radios, then I doubt they'll let any of you close to the Generals," Epsilon said.

"Wait," Simmons spoke up. "If they managed to trace you back to here, then WHY would you teleport us here?! What if they find us?"

"Locus missed us last time so I doubt he or Felix will come looking here again," Carolina explained. "But even so, I doubt we'll have that kind of luck on our side again, so we'll need to be careful."

"Well, what if we teleported to our lieutenants and have them pass along the message to Kimball?" Tucker asked. "Or have Dr. Grey teleport straight back to the Federal Army's general and tell him what's going on?"

"That would likely put their lives in danger further than they already are, which I am not willin' to do," Dallas said, his anger for Felix swelling again as he thought back to Michaels and Sinclair, who would likely have to put up with him by themselves. He could only imagine what Felix would put them through without him there to protect them.

"And Doyle may be general, but it's more out of necessity than choice," Washington said. "If he was made aware of the mercenaries' plans and Locus got word of it, he would probably be killed before he could get a word to his soldiers. The mercenaries would probably try and blame his death on the New Republic in order to add fuel to the fire. So that plan's no good, either."

"Fine, fine, I get it," Tucker muttered.

"We going to need more intel," Carolina said. "We need the upper hand on these guys before we can even think about taking them on again. And to make matters worse, we don't have much time."

"What makes you say that?" Sarge asked.

"We've managed to eavesdrop on a few conversations and someone who calls themselves 'Control'," Carolina explained. "They're the person Felix was going on about back at the Federal Army's base. The one who wanted the Director dead."

All heads turned towards Dallas in silent unison at this statement and Dallas shifted uncomfortably at the feeling of their gazes on his back.

"This Control person. They've got plans and protocols for just about everything," Carolina continued. "And I wouldn't be surprised if they had something for this exact situation." 

"Which means what, exactly?" Tucker asked.

"Look at it this way," Epsilon said. "Twelve people on this planet know what's really going on. What the mercenaries' plans are, what's going to happen if they succeed, all of that. And until those twelve people are tracked down and killed, I'm talking about us, by the way, if that wasn't obvious—"

"It was," Grif said.

"—there's really only one thing these space pirates can do," Epsilon continued, ignoring Grif's interruption. "And that's to finish what they started."

There was a moment of silence as the group took in the information that Carolina and Epsilon had laid out before them, and Dallas took this as an opportunity to try and piece the new information together with anything he had learned in the past few days.

Organized, corrupt soldiers behind an even more corrupt leader... Not only did it sound too familiar for comfort, but there was the 'friend' Felix had mentioned. Someone not only willing to wipe out an entire planet's population to use the remaining land for their own benefit, but also desired his head on a platter. Someone who was able to go to such great lengths to ensure that their plans were airtight, foolproof, unable to be stopped at any costs.

He had made many enemies during his Project Freelancer days, most of which had been politicians and people with high levels of authority, many of whom were just as corrupt behind the backs of the public as he had once been. And many of them had enough power, money, and intelligence to be able to pull off a scheme of this magnitude.

Any number of them could be the mysterious Control figure behind the mercenaries' plans to destroy Chorus's population, and if he and the others didn't find a way to discover their identity soon, that person was going to get everything they desired; the planet, confirmation of Dallas's death, and the lifeless bodies of the Reds and Blues.

And while Dallas had been eager to accept Death's embrace on multiple occasions in the past, this was an opportunity he would not be accepting any time soon.


	27. Part 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little spacey as I write this, but I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter. Didn't expect it to go the way it did, but I'm happy with the result.

"So, you have no idea?"

Dallas shook his head. "It's not that I don't have any idea. It's that I have too MANY ideas to narrow them down. I made many enemies during my time as Director of Project Freelancer, and many of those enemies not only possess enough hatred towards me to want me dead, but enough money and power to be able to pull a scheme of this nature and magnitude off."

Tucker sighed heavily. "Man, that sucks. Like...you can't even make a top ten list of possible suspects or anything?"

"I could, but unless we find a way to uncover Control's identity, it would do little to no good," Dallas explained. "We have no way to get off the planet to find help while the mercenaries are in control of both transportation and communication. And even if we possessed a way to do so, the UNSC wouldn't take too kindly to a supposedly-dead war criminal walkin' through their doors and proclaimin' that a planet is bein' corrupted by war."

"Yeah, good point," Tucker said. "There's no way they'd listen to us about Chorus if they found out we were lying about your death."

"Hey, back off!"

Upon hearing this outcry, Dallas turned his attention away from Tucker and towards Grif, who was backed against a wall with the weapon he had picked up during their fight with the mercenaries held close to his chest in a protective fashion. Carolina stood before him, her stance cautious yet tense as she attempted to take a step towards Grif. His response was to attempt to put more distance between the two of them, despite the wall against his back.

"Okay, so here's something you might be able to answer," Tucker said, and nudged Dallas. "On a scale of one to 'she's going to fucking kill him', how do you think their conversation's gonna end?"

"Now there's a question I can give a definite answer to," Dallas said, not taking his eyes off Carolina or Grif. "Though I would need to know whether or not Grif is willin' to cooperate with her demands before I could choose the likelier option."

Carolina made another attempt to step closer to Grif. "Grif, we just want to look at it."

"No way!" Grif exclaimed, as he clutched the weapon in his arms tighter. "That's what the UNSC said about the Grifshot, and I never saw it again!"

"The what?" Dallas asked.

"The Meta's weapon." Simmons had also been watching the conversation from a short distance. "Grif called dibs on it after we threw the Meta off the cliff and kept it as a trophy until the UNSC confiscated it."

"It had sentimental value!" Grif insisted. "It kept me from falling off that cliff along with him! I think I earned the right to keep that fucking thing!"

"...Listen, Grif," Carolina said in an understanding tone. "I know what it's like to be attached to something that saved your life. But that weapon in your hands might give us a clue as to who we might be dealing with here."

Grif didn't budge. "Felix said the guy wanted Dallas. He might know something about it! Something that doesn't involve me giving up my cool space laser!"

"It's as I told Tucker," Dallas said. "There are too many likely suspects for me to narrow down my guesses. And even if I had an idea as to who Control could be, we can't do much to bring them to justice unless we put a stop to their plans first."

"Just gimme a few minutes," Sarge said, his gun raised and aimed at Grif. "I can make him hand it over."

"Uh, fucking try me," Grif said, his own weapon raised. "Space Laser beats Shotgun, old man!"

"Ugh, this is taking too long!" Epsilon said irritably, and vanished from his usual spot beside Carolina's shoulder. "Here, let me get it..."

"Wait a minu-ACK!"

Grif didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before his words were cut off by an invisible source and Dallas noticed an immediate change in his posture. While Grif was usually relaxed and always appeared to be hunched over or slouched, he now seemed to stand up straight.

"Ugh, this body's disgusting. It's like breathing through a trash can..."

And that was definitely not Grif's voice coming from inside the armor.

"Can you make him drop the laser?" Carolina asked.

"Of course, no problem," Epsilon said, and let the laser drop to the dirt at Grif's feet.

"Thank you," Carolina said, as she picked the weapon up. "Why is it so greasy?"

Epsilon shrugged, which resulted in Grif's shoulders shrugging with him. "I mean...have you met Grif?"

"Point taken."

Epsilon fell silent and Grif's posture returned to normal as Epsilon flickered back into view beside Carolina. "Ugh, I hate that!" Grif said. "At least warn a guy next time!"

"How fascinating!" Dr. Grey exclaimed. "An AI with the ability to jump from soldier to soldier?! Tell me, is it neural implants or something a little more subtle?"

"Implants," Carolina explained. "All Freelancer personnel have them in their armor."

"Oh, but of course the Director of Project Freelancer of all people would be able to figure out how to do such a thing," Dr. Grey said sweetly, with a look towards Dallas. "You are just that brilliant, aren't you?"

"Please...it's just Dallas," he said, not taking his gaze off Epsilon. "And while I appreciate the compliment, I'm a little more concerned with the fact that Epsilon possesses the same abilities as the Alpha when it comes to the ability to jump between suits of armor."

"Hey, not that it's any of YOUR business, but it's a trick I picked up from some of my old memory buddies," Epsilon said, a hand pressed to his holographic helmet. "Can't...really do it for too long, though."

"Are you alright?" Carolina asked.

"Fine, fine, just a headache," Epsilon assured her. "It's nothing."

"AIs don't 'just get headaches,' Epsilon," Dallas said, sounding concerned. "And you're not exactly a young AI anymore. You need to be more careful about the amount of energy you exert—"

"Oh, don't act like you care about what happens to me," Epsilon said bitterly. "Just keep your comments to yourself."

"Epsilon, he's not entirely wrong," Carolina pointed out.

"Don't you start too!" Epsilon said. "Let's just hurry up and take this thing apart."

Grif made a pathetic noise. "Wh—"

"When we're done, you can have it back in one piece," Carolina assured him. "...Well, probably."

"What do you mean 'PROBABLY'?!" Grif sputtered.

"Would you like any help with the weapon's examination?" Dallas asked. "I might be able to—"

"No, not from you," Epsilon said before Carolina could respond.

"That's enough, Epsilon," Carolina said, before she turned her attention to Dallas. "I think we'll be able to figure things out on our own."

On their own. Dallas had a feeling that was code for 'without the help of someone like him'. "Very well. But if you need any assistance at all, don't be afraid to ask."

"We shouldn't be long," Carolina told the group.

"But what should WE do in the meantime?" Simmons asked.

"Well...why don't you do a little bit of catching up?" Carolina suggested. "You've all been through a lot..."

"I mean, I'd join you," Epsilon added. "But I'm pretty sure some of you are still kind of peeved at me. Not to mention, I'd have to deal with Dallas and I really don't want to do that."

Carolina simply shook her head and the two of them headed off towards another part of the thick forest they currently called their sanctuary while the group watched them go in silence.

"So, how's everyone been?" Donut asked cheerfully.

"Fuck off, Donut," Grif said.

"Same old, same old, huh?" Donut said. "Good to hear it!"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to interrupt such a touching reunion," Dr. Grey said. "So perhaps I should join them..."

"Hey, if you wanna interrupt, it's fine by us," Grif said.

"Okay, I was just trying to be polite," Dr. Grey explained. "As much as I'd like to stick around and maybe learn a little bit more about a CERTAIN former Director, I can't resist the sweet call of unknown technology. Bye-bye!"

With a playful wave, she headed off in the same direction as Carolina and Epsilon, and the group fell silent once more.

"I think she might have the hots for you," Tucker said to Dallas once Dr. Grey disappeared from sight.

"I'm not so sure," Dallas said doubtfully. "She's probably just interested in my research, and my less-than-desirable accomplishments."

Tucker gave him a playful nudge. "Hey, come on, don't be so hard on yourself. You think she wouldn't find you attractive?"

"I really don't think this is the best time to be havin' this conversation, Tucker," Dallas said, his tone not as playful as his teammate's.

Tucker lowered his arm. "Sorry, dude, just trying to lighten the mood."

"It's fine," Dallas assured him. "But again, it's not the time or place."

"It's just good to see you all in one piece," Washington said. "I was worried about all of you."

Dallas turned to face Washington, as the realization that all of them had escaped the base alive finally began to take hold. "Believe us when we say that findin' all of you was no small feat."

"Ooh! Agent Washington?" Caboose asked. "Ah, speaking of feet that are not small, I would like to ask you about Freckles. He has very big feet and I had planned on buying him a pair of big shoes once we were all safe. Do you know where he is?"

Dallas could tell by Washington's suddenly stiff posture and long pause of silence that Freckles had likely not survived the attack in the canyon. The rest of the Reds and Blues seemed to be able to guess this as well, as most of them muttered some halfhearted excuse as to why they needed to leave so suddenly before they dashed off to where Carolina and Dr. Grey had headed.

But Dallas remained, while his gaze shifted between Caboose, who seemed to be waiting for Washington's answer with baited breath, and Agent Washington himself. "Do you need me to stay and help you tell him what happened?"

"Yes, Dallas should stay with us!" Caboose said. "And maybe he can give Freckles a checkup! It has been a while since his last one, and I am sure he needs it."

"Only if Agent Washington says it's okay, Caboose," Dallas said. "He's in charge again."

"It would probably help," Washington admitted. "It's not going to be easy to tell him..."

"Who, Freckles?" Caboose asked. "Nah, I think it would be very easy. He loves his checkups and would not mind being told he needs another one!"

"No, Caboose, it's not that," Washington said. "It's something else..."

So Washington DID have bad news about Freckles. Dallas gave him an understanding nod as an indication that he would stay and Washington took this as a sign to continue speaking. "Caboose, listen, I'm...I'm not really sure how to tell you this without both confusing you and breaking your disturbingly fragile heart—"

"I am an emotional time bomb!" Caboose said proudly.

Washington shook his head. "Jesus Christ..."

"You're doing fine, Washington," Dallas said in an encouraging tone. "Keep goin'."

Washington cleared his throat, and pulled something out of one of the storage compartments on his armor. The object was small, and resembled a computer chip. "Caboose, I'm afraid this is all that's left of Freckles. I guess you could consider it his brain."

"Wh-Freckles?" Caboose asked in a small voice as he stared at the object in Washington's hand. "You're just..."

Dallas gently placed a hand on Caboose's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "Caboose, it's goin' to be okay...Maybe we can build him a new body when—"

"You're so TINY NOW!"

Caboose's delight echoed throughout the forest and he promptly snatched the little computer chip out of Washington's hands and held it proudly over his head. "Look at him! He's so little and cute and can fit in my pocket!"

"Wait a second, what?" Washington asked.

Dallas breathed a sigh of relief. He had not expected Caboose to react in such a manner, but it was definitely preferred over tears or any other form of heartbreak.

"Dallas! Dallas, look at how small Freckles is!" Caboose said, practically shoving the little chip against the side of Dallas's helmet so he could see it properly. "It will be so much easier to give him checkups now!"

"Yes, that's very nice, Caboose," Dallas said, gently pushing the chip out of his face. "Though I am able to give him a proper checkup at this distance."

"And now Agent Washington doesn't have to worry about Freckles being too big!" Caboose pointed out. "Now Freckles would definitely need a car seat when riding in the car, because he is small!"

"So, you're okay with him being that size?" Washington asked.

"Oh, yes, he is very nice when he is little," Caboose said, before tucking the chip into one of his own storage compartments. "Thanks for looking out for him, Wash! I am sure he appreciates it."

"Well, he's very welcome, Caboose," Washington said.

"I should go show Church!" Caboose said. "He would like Freckles. Freckles is a computer and he is a computer, so I feel like they would get along. Thanks again, Agent Washington!"

"Yeah, go ahead and show Church," Washington said.

"Okay!" Caboose waved goodbye as he hurried off in the direction of the others.

Dallas gave a weak wave as he watched his teammate disappear into the undergrowth, before he looked over at Washington. "That was a nice thing you did for him, Agent Washington."

"Yeah, I'm just glad he wasn't upset," Washington admitted. "Honestly, I'm not sure if I could have handled it if he got upset..."

"He definitely knows how to look on the brighter side of things," Dallas said. "I must admit, it's a trait of his I envy."

"Yeah, he's...he's something..." Washington said, almost fondly.

Dallas fell silent for a moment. "You know...I was worried about you, Washington."

"Worried about me?" Washington repeated.

"Of course I was," Dallas said with a heavy sigh. "If anything had happened to you, I...well, I would have felt terrible. Like it was somehow my fault another Freelancer got captured or killed when I could have prevented it..."

"You really felt that guilty?" Washington asked with genuine surprise.

"Yes, of course I did," Dallas said. "When the cave collapsed and... _Felix_ —" He emphasized the mercenary's name with great disdain. "—forced us away from there before I could do anything to help you...I felt as bad as I did that day in the facility. And now that I know Felix was actually as terrible as I suspected him to be, I regret not trustin' my instincts sooner and stayin' behind to help. Or preventin' him from causin' harm to anyone else, or takin' any other action I could have before it was too late."

"Trust me, none of this is your fault," Washington said. "Felix and Locus fooled all of us, and they even said they would have done it if you hadn't been involved, so I wouldn't be too hard on yourself for not catching onto them sooner."

"Agent Washington, I am a genius. A genius with a history of corruption. If anythin', I definitely should have caught on much sooner than I did." Dallas paused for a moment and shook his head. "I apologize, I'm sure the last thing you want to do is listen to me complain..."

"No, no, it's fine," Washington assured him. "The last few days have been stressful on all of us, and I'm not surprised to hear that you've been having a hard time."

"Still, I'd imagine it's not the most ideal conversation you'd want to have," Dallas pointed out. "Listenin' to your former employer complain about how difficult life is when he put you through much worse."

Washington glanced at him. "You know what? If you had come to me a few weeks ago and said all this, I would have probably told you to suck it up or tell you to stop complaining or something like that. But now, I...really don't mind so much."

"Oh? And what has changed about it since then?" Dallas asked.

"You actually sound truly sorry for everything you did," Washington said. "I mean, I'm not saying you didn't sound sorry before. But at the same time, we were still on thin ice and I wasn't sure if I could completely believe you. I'm not saying I completely trust you now, but I can tell your attempts to be a better person aren't just talk, and...well, I don't know..."

Washington paused to awkwardly rub the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words. "Maybe...to some extent...I was a little worried about you, too."

"Worried about me?" Dallas asked with surprise. "But you said it yourself: we were still on thin ice before we were separated. Not to mention, you did tell Epsilon that we were far from friends. So why worry about me?"

Washington shrugged. "Well, were were on thin ice, but you were still a part of the team. Even if I wasn't very happy about it. And there was that conversation we had before the split that had me concerned—"

"One conversation is not enough to undo all the damage I've done to you," Dallas pointed out.

"Yes, but it did tell me that you were, at the very least, trying," Washington pointed out. "And the fact that you continued to make good choices, even in my absence, convinces me even more. I mean, you got Tucker and the others all the way to the Federal Army's base in one piece."

"Well, the state of their well-bein' isn't necessarily my doin'," Dallas explained. "I didn't lead them to the Federal Army base. If anythin', Tucker and the others were the ones leadin' me to you. I did my best to stay as far away from any leadership position as possible, minus the unavoidable task of trainin' the lieutenants back at the New Republic. I know that I'm one of the last people that should be leadin' anyone."

"Exactly my point," Washington said. "You're trying, actually trying, to be better. You're aware of your faults. And you know what? I respect that. Don't get the wrong idea, though, this doesn't mean that we're suddenly going to be best friends or anything like that."

"Oh, of course," Dallas said. "But...it's certainly better than constantly bein' at each other's throats, isn't it?"

Washington gave him a nod. "It's definitely an improvement."

"Back off lady, or I will put you in the ground!"

A loud explosion in the distance that immediately followed Grif's outcry diverted their attention towards where the others had gathered. Washington sighed and shook his head. "And speaking of being at each other's throats..."

"We'd better intervene before someone gets hurt," Dallas said.

"You're right," Washington said, taking a step towards where the others were waiting. "Come on, let's hurry."

Dallas gave a nod. "Oh, Agent Washington? One last thing."

"What is it?"

"...Thank you for trustin' me to the extent that you do," Dallas said. "I know it's probably not easy after everythin' I did, and I promise I will not make you regret it."

"I really hope you don't," Washington said. "That promise I made about ending you if you endanger anyone in the group for your own gains is still in effect, and at this point, I really don't want it to come to that."

"Well, then it's a good thing I have no plans to do that anytime soon," Dallas said with a hint of jest in his voice.

Washington let out a soft chuckle. "Come on, we'd better make sure that no one else endangers them while we're busy talking."

Dallas gave an understanding nod and the two of them hurried towards the source of Grif's cries. Pushing past the thick underbrush, they stepped out into a clearing where the Reds and Blues now stood, gathered close together as they watched the scene before them unfold.

It was like Dallas had gone back in time several minutes, for Grif was clutching the space laser again in a tight grip with his back to a wall while Carolina stood before him in a manner identical to her earlier stance while she waited for him to drop the weapon.

"You were about to take it apart!" Grif yelled.

"What did you think we meant by 'disassemble'?" Carolina asked impatiently, hands on her hips.

"How did he get the laser back?" Washington asked.

"He's deceptively heavy," Simmons pointed out.

"Grif, for the last time," Carolina said, as she took another step towards Grif. "Put the laser-"

A loud noise from the weapon in Grif's hand interrupted her plea as it fired off, and the sound echoed throughout the forest before the shot hit a nearby tree. The group was deathly silent as their gazes shifted from Carolina to the now-trembling Grif.

"Uh...Uh, okay, listen!" Grif sputtered. "I swear that was an accident!"

"...I'm going to break your fingers," Carolina said, no hint of jest in her voice.

Tucker gave Dallas a nudge. "Okay, so how well do you think THIS conversation's going to end?"

Dallas shook his head. "Carolina, breakin' the man's fingers won't solve our dilemma."

"As much as I hate to say it, I kinda agree with him," Epsilon said. "Just let me take control of him again."

"That isn't a wise decision either, Epsilon," Dallas said. "You said so yourself that takin' control of a suit of armor resulted in headaches—"

"Hey, I said I agreed with you," Epsilon said crossly. "I never said I needed, or wanted, your advice."

"Hold on a moment," Dr. Grey spoke up, taking a step away from the group and towards Grif. "Remind me again where you got this laser?"

"I picked it up after Carolina dropped it at the snow base," Grif explained, with a look to Carolina. "And clearly SOMEONE has never heard of the International Dibs Protocol!"

"I could still break your fingers, you know," Carolina said. "And as for the laser, the pirates have been manufacturing weapons just like it along with the armor enhancements."

"So you're sure the laser's man-made?" Dr. Grey asked.

"Positive," Epsilon said. "Why?"

"Well, for starters, the technology used in this gun isn't human," Dr. Grey explained. "It just fired some kind of modified plasma energy."

"Plasma," Dallas repeated thoughtfully. "Are you suggestin' the gun is alien-made?"

"Ooh, I was hoping you would catch on before the others, Dallas!" Dr. Grey said cheerfully. "And you're right! I've seen this kind of energy source countless times in archaeological digs."

"Wait a minute," Simmons said. "I thought you were a surgeon?"

"Hey, even geniuses need a hobby," Dr. Grey pointed out, giving Dallas a playful nudge. "Am I right, Dallas? You come across as the... gardening-type of genius to me."

Dallas shifted uncomfortably at this suggestion. "Well, I never had the opportunity to engage in any sort of hobby outside of my work," he explained. "And any hobbies I did invest myself in are either ones I'm not particularly proud of, to say the least...Or ones I chose to abandon due to personal reasons..."

He felt his throat tighten as he thought back to the old video camera he had once used on a regular basis. The one he had used to film his daughter whenever Allison was gone, so she could return to video upon video of the toddler's antics. Videos that the two of them would curl up on the couch to watch and enjoy together. Videos he would create for her so she never felt like she was missing out on her daughter's life while away for months on end.

The same video camera he had never used again when he found out that Allison would not be returning home. The only time he had touched the camera again was to remove the final video he had recorded, after which he promptly placed it back on the shelf to be forgotten with time.

"Hey, wasn't Felix paid in alien tech?"

Tucker's voice pulled Dallas from his thoughts, and it was only then that he noticed Carolina staring at him; her expression blocked by her visor. "Yes, he was," Dallas said. "I distinctly remember him requestin' your sword as payment to help us train the lieutenants."

Tucker gripped the hilt of his sword in a defensive manner. "Man, good thing I told him to fuck off, huh?"

"But I thought the plasma rifle that Kimball gave him was broken," Simmons said.

"It probably was," Dr. Grey said. "The Federal Army arranged a similar deal with Locus. General Doyle seemed all-too-eager to give away any alien technology we could find. He's already got his issues with guns, so he'll take any chance he can get to get rid of the ones that we don't need."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Washington asked rhetorically.

"So, the mercenaries stock up on alien technology, then hand it off to the pirates for reverse engineerin'," Dallas said thoughtfully.

"Which gives them a whole new kind of weapon," Washington added. "Half-human and half-alien."

"And every single one of them is pointed at us," Carolina said. "Wonderful."

"Do you possess any other weapons like this?" Dr. Grey asked.

"What about the future cubes?" Grif suggested, before he reached into his armor and pulled out one of the glowing cubes from the canyon. "They look kind of like the laser gun, right?"

"That's your deductive reasoning?" Simmons asked. "They're related because they're both orange and glowy?"

"Yeah, so?" Grif asked.

Simmons crossed his arms. "If I heated your armor to a thousand degrees, would you think you're related to the laser gun, too?"

"Now, hold on, Simmons," Dallas said. "Grif might be on the right track with that theory of his."

"Grif? On the right track?" Sarge asked. "Thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius or something."

Grif looked from Sarge to Dallas. "Okay, seriously, can Dallas please be on our team?"

"Both the lasers and the teleporters do seem to utilize some form of alien technology," Carolina said. "But how did you know what the teleporters looked like?"

"Oh, we had them back in the canyon," Grif explained. "We used a lot of them to teleport random junk."

"You what?!" Epsilon asked. "How did you find them?"

"We found them one night while sneaking aboard the ship in an attempt to destroy the Blues," Sarge explained.

"Excuse me?" Dallas asked.

"I mean the Blues' robot," Sarge said. "May he rest in peace."

Grif looked towards Carolina and Epsilon. "Hey, that reminds me. How did you guys figure out how to teleport people? We could only figure out how to teleport random stuff, like cones and garbage."

"Y Doc, [And Doc]," Lopez said. "Usted teletransportado Doc [You accidentally transported Doc]."

"Oh my gosh, Lopez, you're right! " Donut said. "We did use them to defeat Dos.0, too!"

"Oh, por el amor de Dios [Oh, for fuck's sake]," Lopez grumbled in annoyance. 

"If the same people making weapons on Chorus had cargo on our ship," Epsilon said. "Then we might be able to figure out who they are."

"How?" Simmons asked.

"A manifest?" Carolina guessed.

Epsilon nodded. "You got it."

"Of course," Dallas said. "A ship that size would definitely need to keep track of all its cargo."

"Wait a minute," Tucker spoke up. "You really think some bad guys working outside the law are going to worry about paperwork?"

"You got any better ideas, Tucker?" Epsilon asked.

Tucker shifted uncomfortably at this question, a motion that Dallas didn't miss. "If Control wants me on top of exterminatin' the planet's population," Dallas said. "Then it's likely they would be someone who would want to keep track of their supplies. It's not out of the question that they would keep on top of their paperwork when it comes to the weapons they're assignin' their soldiers."

"I guess that makes sense," Tucker said with a shrug.

"Then we have our objective," Carolina said. "Half of us will travel back to the canyon and search Crash Site Bravo for the manifest."

"Wait, why only half?" Simmons asked.

"Because the rest of us will be searching the other half of the ship," Carolina explained. "At Crash Site Alpha."


	28. Part 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Grey and Dallas have a nice, long conversation about things :)

"Okay, do both teams have their teleportation grenades?"

Sarge nodded at Carolina's question, and gave the storage compartment on his armor a firm pat. "Got 'em right here!"

"And we've got ours," Washington said, with a simple gesture to his own storage compartment.

"Two each?" Carolina asked.

"One to get us there and one to get back," Sarge said, repeating the words Carolina had told them earlier.

"Good," Carolina said. "Okay, our first priority is obtaining the manifest. However, while we're searching the wreck, we should also keep an eye out for any additional supplies we can get our hands on. Teleporters, weapons, anything that might be useful." She cast a look towards Red Team. "Now, there shouldn't be any pirates located at Crash Site Bravo, but keep on your guard nonetheless."

"I'm always on guard," Sarge said proudly. "Even in my sleep, I'm on guard! I even taught myself how to sleep with my eyes open, that's how on guard I am!"

"It nearly gave Simmons a heart attack," Grif said.

"I thought HE was having a heart attack!" Simmons explained. "I was worried sick!"

"Well, regardless, your team shouldn't have any issues at Bravo," Carolina said. "Now, it's going to be a different story at Crash Site Alpha. We may have its coordinates for teleportation, but Epsilon and I never got a chance to properly investigate the area. All we know is that it seems to be a massive hot-spot for space pirate activity. We'd understand if you don't want to join us, since it's going to be dangerous."

"Given the situation, I think you two need all the help you can get," Washington said. "Count us in."

"Absolutely," Dallas added. "We wouldn't dare let you go alone."

"Uh, who said _you_ were coming with us?" Epsilon asked him, arms folded.

"Excuse me?" Dallas asked.

"You heard me," Epsilon said. "You're not coming with us."

Carolina sighed. "Epsilon, this really isn't the time to start this..."

"I'm serious, Carolina, I don't want to bring him along," Epsilon said. "And it's not just because I don't like him. I mean, that's one reason, but it's not the main one. We're teleporting to an area that's crawling with pirates and a guy like him would probably end up being dead weight. Figuratively AND literally once the pirates find out where we are because he can't keep up."

"Come on, Church," Tucker said. "I know you don't like the guy, but he's still a part of our team."

"And he is very smart!" Caboose added. "He knows a lot about robots and ahhh...Being a robot doctor!"

"Listen, I hate to admit it, but Caboose kinda has a point about Dallas," Tucker said. "Except for the robot doctor shit. But, like, he _is_ pretty smart and would be more than just dead weight!"

"Oh?" Epsilon asked. "So, can he fight? Does he know how to use a gun properly?"

Tucker fell silent at this question, and the rest of Blue Team shifted awkwardly. Even Washington's posture seemed uncomfortable, as if he were hesitant to answer the question.

"That's what I thought," Epsilon said, breaking his team's silence. "He'd just be a liability."

"Well, I did put him through the same training as the others when we were back in the canyon," Washington said slowly. "But..."

"My aim is still less than impressive," Dallas admitted. "And I'll admit my age caused some setbacks when it came to what exercises I could and could not do."

"And who's to say it wouldn't cause setbacks on this mission?" Epsilon asked. "A few weeks of training only does so much when you've spent YEARS out of it."

"Hey, at least he still trained with us, instead of running off to explore the planet," Tucker pointed out bitterly.

"Oh, don't even go there, Tucker," Epsilon said. "We already told you why we had to leave in the first place!"

"I'll stay," Dallas said, in the hopes of stopping any arguments before they formed.

Tucker turned to him. "Hey, come on, you don't have to stay just because Church is a prick."

"Epsilon does have a point, Tucker," Dallas said. "I may be smart, but my fightin' skills do need work and I wouldn't dare risk the safety of my team by accompanyin' you on a mission where I might slow you down."

"Are you sure you're okay with staying behind?" Washington asked.

"I'll be fine," Dallas assured him. "I can always keep Dr. Grey company while we wait for your return."

"Which is FINE with me!" Dr. Grey said cheerfully. "Maybe we can discuss our scientific accomplishments! Ooh, or maybe we can prepare a nice dinner made from the surrounding fungi and vegetation for the returning troops."

"Please don't," Washington said.

"Fine, you two stay here," Carolina said. "We'll be back before too long."

"I will bring you back souvenirs!" Caboose said sweetly. 

Dallas nodded. "Just be sure not to get captured."

"Yeah, let's not," Grif said. "Last thing we need right now is another fucking rescue mission."

Dallas gave another nod, letting his gaze shift from soldier to soldier, until it finally landed on Carolina. Any warnings for the mission immediately died in his throat, and the realization that she had been gone for weeks on end and was about to leave again on another dangerous mission had suddenly overtaken him. 

She seemed to be staring at him with a look of her own, though the visor blocking her face made it difficult for Dallas to guess her thoughts. Was she angry? Was she sad? A mixture of both?

"We'll be back before too long," she finally said aloud, before turning to the rest of the group. "Good luck to everyone."

"Stay safe, Carolina," Dallas said wistfully.

Carolina turned back to him one last time, before she threw Blue Team's teleportation cube to the forest floor. The group vanished almost instantly, and Red Team followed suit in a matter of seconds. The forest was suddenly quiet, with only the faint (and slightly eerie) sounds of birds and insects echoing in the distance.

"So tell me," Dr. Grey said. "Is she related to you?"

Dallas turned to her. "I'm sorry?" 

"Carolina," Dr. Grey said. "Is she related to you? Because I didn't see you giving that look to anyone else before they left..."

"Oh..." His gaze didn't move from the spot where Blue Team had stood moments before. "Well, by blood, we are related. She's my daughter."

"Oh, I knew it!" Dr. Grey said cheerfully, clapping her hands together. "She sounded a little too young to be anything else, unless you had a younger sister or something like that. But how sweet! A father and daughter working together to save a planet? Ooh, the thought's so exciting!"

"She's related to me only by blood," Dallas repeated slowly. "I lost the right to call myself her father years ago."

"Oh, I see," she said. "Did it have anything to do with Project Freelancer?"

Dallas sighed heavily. "What exactly did the press say about me and Project Freelancer?"

"That you were a corrupt scientist and abused your power to torture an AI and that your actions led most of the soldiers in the project to their death," Dr. Grey said almost immediately, as if she had been waiting all her life to answer any questions he might ask her.

"Well, that's not surprisin'," Dallas said. "But did they mention WHY I did what I did?"

"Aside from the corruption thing?" Dr. Grey asked. "No, they mostly just listed the things you did wrong."

Dallas shook his head. "Again, that's not surprisin' to hear. But there was another reason for my actions...Granted, it doesn't make what I did okay, but it certainly does explain a few things."

"Ooh, a tragic backstory?" Dr. Grey asked. "I'd love to hear it!"

Dallas turned to face her. "Well, I suppose that's one way to put it. But I'll admit, I'm a bit hesitant to discuss such a shameful part of my life with someone I barely know, especially after what happened with Felix..."

"Oh, I don't blame you for that," Dr. Grey said. "Though it might be a while before the groups return, and we might have some time on our hands to just sit and chat. And if you were to share some of your life with me, then of course I'd be happy to share some of mine in return! Maybe tell you some of my own juicy secrets?"

"Well, let's not go _that_ far," Dallas said.

"Oh, I didn't mean THAT kind of juicy!" she said with a giggle. "I just meant some of my own less-than-impressive accomplishments. When you're a part of a war, ooh boy, do they pile up! But if you'd rather not, then we could just prepare the group a meal like I suggested earlier. Have you ever tried Tree-Bark-and-Mushroom Stew? Believe me, it's a lot tastier than it sounds!"

"No, no, that's quite alright," Dallas said quickly. "And...well, you do have a point about how long it might take for the others to return...I suppose it wouldn't hurt to sit and talk for a while, if you're interested enough in listenin' to what I have to say."

"Oh, I'm more than interested!" Dr. Grey said excitedly. "I've learned so much about you from all the stories in the media, but obviously there's going to be a bias against you and those stories are going to be very one-sided. To hear the other side of them from the person they're about...Well, I'd consider it a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"

Dallas stared at her for a moment, before he sighed and shook his head. "Well, how can I say no to that?"

Dr. Grey let out a noise of delight and happily seated herself on an overturned log, gently patting the spot beside her.

"Where should I start?" Dallas asked, taking a seat.

"How about Project Freelancer?" Dr. Grey suggested, the excitement in her voice more prominent than ever. 

"I suppose that makes sense," Dallas said. "Is there anythin' specific that you would like me to talk about?"

"The media said you were corrupt since the beginning," Dr. Grey said. "Was that true?"

"While I can't say I'm surprised by that, I wouldn't necessarily call it true," Dallas said. "Project Freelancer's original goal had been to end the war, and for the longest time, I _was_ determined to reach that goal. I'll admit that a lot of my earlier methods were—" He paused as his thoughts drifted back to the time he had moved Agent South down on the leader board. "—questionable to say the least, but corrupt might have been a bit of an exaggeration. At least, that's how it was at first..."

"Sorry about the choice of words," Dr. Grey said. "Their quotes, not mine."

"I figured as much," Dallas said. "I'm aware the media has been rather unforgivin' towards me, and I don't blame them."

Dr. Grey turned towards him. "So, what happened to suddenly turn you...well, you know?"

Dallas was silent for a moment as he attempted to organize his thoughts. He knew the topics of Agent Texas and Allison would come up if he made the decision to discuss Project Freelancer with Dr. Grey, but it had been so long since he'd had a chance to actually sit down and talk about either of them in such a manner. He may have discussed some of his feelings on the subjects with Agent Washington and (to some extent) Tucker, but those conversations had barely scratched the surface and he knew that his teammates could only be so helpful when it came to such a topic. 

While he and Agent Washington were finally on decent terms with one another, Dallas still didn't feel right about bombarding him with his troubles and Tucker was...well, while he did seem to know a lot more about being a proper parent, he was not without his flaws when it came to emotional issues. Any advice from him would likely consist of something lewd or tactless, or some kind of implication that expressing one's feelings was, quote unquote, 'not manly'.

This was the first time in a long time that someone not only wanted to listen to his troubles, but would likely refrain from passing any sort of negative judgement on him and could possibly even provide him with intelligent (albeit eccentric) advice. He hadn't had an opportunity like this since his days with Price during Project Freelancer, and that had been many years ago. And even if Dr. Grey _wasn't_ able to provide the advice he needed, the fact that she was willing to allow him to vent was more than appreciated. And perhaps the venting in itself would be enough to help ease some of his stress.

Finally, he took a deep breath and he began to speak again: "Well, I was assigned an AI based off my own mind, whom I named Alpha. But there was another AI, a byproduct created from Alpha's strongest memories. Her names was Agent Texas, or Tex."

"Oh, didn't your friends mention someone named Tex?" Dr. Grey asked. "Your ex, or...not ex?"

"Yes, that was her," Dallas said. "She was an incredible soldier and an even better Freelancer. Strong, intelligent, brave...she was, well, she was somethin'."

"You said she was based off Alpha's memories," Dr. Grey said. "So...if she wasn't your ex, then was she based off someone you loved?"

Dallas nodded. "You weren't kiddin' about being a genius, were you?"

"IQ of 240, baby!" Dr. Grey said proudly. "So, was she based off an actual ex of yours? Or a wife, perhaps?"

"Her name was Allison," Dallas said, trying to keep his voice steady. "And she was all I described Tex to be, and much, much more. She had a smile that shined brighter than the sun and a kind heart that only hardened when one would threaten those she loved. She had this passionate fire that raged inside her, but a touch so gentle and kind. She took nothin' from no one, but also gave so much to anyone who had the pleasure of knowin' her. She was worth more to me than any star, any planet, any system in the galaxy...To this day, I still wonder what she ever saw in someone like me, but I'm overjoyed that she saw enough to stay..."

"Oh, how romantic!" Dr. Grey said dreamily, clasping her hands together. "I'll bet you two were such a beautiful couple!"

That managed to get a faint chuckle out of Dallas. "Well, she was beautiful enough for the both of us. I won't deny that I was handsome in my prime, but she was....wow, indescribable."

Dr. Grey let out a gleeful laugh. "You were so in love with her, weren't you?"

"More than life itself," Dallas said tenderly.

"So what happened to her?" Dr. Grey asked. "If I may pry?" 

Dallas inhaled and exhaled slowly. "She was a soldier. Died in battle. I tried to stop her from leavin' but she insisted on goin' nonetheless. I've always had this feelin', like I could have done more to stop her, but...well, obviously I didn't."

"Oh, I see..." Dr. Grey said, her usual cheery tone fading the slightest amount. "It wasn't your fault, you know. I can tell you that right now. Sometimes this kind of thing just happens..."

Dallas looked towards her, surprised by her sudden mood change. "I'm sorry, is this upsetting you? Would you like me to stop?"

"No, please, go on," Dr. Grey insisted. "I'm alright, I promise."

Dallas remained silent for a moment, as if he were waiting for her to change her mind, before he decided to continue: "Well, unfortunately, I was never quite the same after Allison's death. That guilt remained for a long time, eating away at me like some kind of horrible parasite. My emotional state plummeted, along with many other aspects of my life. No matter where I turned, I was always reminded of Allison. I tried to distract myself with my work, which did help for a while. But the downside to that was I couldn't spend enough time with my daughter and our relationship only grew further and further apart as time passed. And eventually, I became the Director of Project Freelancer, with the hopes of findin' a way to put an end to the war."

He paused as if he were expecting more input from Dr. Grey, but she remained silent. "Do you still want me to continue?"

"Yes, go ahead," Dr. Grey said. "I'm listening."

Dallas nodded. "As I said before, I wasn't necessarily a perfect leader. I realize now I could have done a lot more to help my agents and to let them grow as soldiers and people but, well, I didn't. I held them to unfair standards and they suffered greatly for it. Many of them came to resent me, and grew distant from those who respected me. Rifts were formed, which only grew larger as time passed. And then, eventually, Agent Texas came into the picture."

"Who was based off the memories of your wife," Dr. Grey said, quoting his earlier words.

Dallas nodded again. "Yes, but unfortunately, she was not a perfect recreation. The two of them may have had many similar aspects, but Tex was not Allison. And, lookin' back, I realize now that she would NEVER be Allison...She was based off the strongest memories that Alpha had of Allison, which were based off my own. And unfortunately, the strongest memories I have of her is watching her leave for the battlefield with a promise she'd return and never keepin' that promise."

Dallas's gaze drifted down to his trembling hands. "I tried again and again, creating one Agent Texas after another. But as I said before, none of them were ever a perfect recreation of Allison. And, as the newspapers so eloquently put it, I became a corrupt man who was desperate to see his wife again. Instead of bein' the leader my agents needed, I only grew more and more obsessed with achievin' my goal and they suffered even further than they had before. I resorted to research methods that were illegal, questionable... Methods that I would have never even dreamed of attemptin' in my youth. Back durin' my trainin' days, I was nearly beaten to a pulp for callin' out someone's problematic behavior in regards to the way they treated an AI. And yet, I tortured my own into fragmentin' for the sake of implantation. Implantation that did nothin' but make the lives of my agents even _more_ difficult. Implantation that not only destroyed many of them both physically and mentally, but also tore Alpha apart."

"Was Church part of Alpha?" Dr. Grey asked. "Or...Epsilon? Whatever he wants to be called? I remember Agent Washington mentioning something about him being a fragment."

Dallas nodded again. "Yes, he is one of Alpha's fragments; the one that represents memory. He remembers everything I did to hurt Alpha, which is why he's so hostile towards me now, and quite frankly, I don't blame him in the slightest for his behavior. To say that he's hurt for what I did to him, to the other fragments, to _Alpha_ , is quite an understatement. And Lord, I haven't even touched on the subject of how this all affected Agent Texas. She may not have been my Allison, but she was still sentient, and deserved far better than what I gave her."

Desperate for air, he reached up to remove his helmet and felt the cool air of the forest hit the sides of his face. He glanced down at the visor as tears began to well up in his eyes. "I've just...hurt so many people, human and AI alike. I've done so many terrible things, all for my own selfish needs..."

Dr. Grey watched him for a moment, before she reached over to give his right hand a gentle pat. "You've been through so much..."

Dallas kept his gaze locked on the helmet in his lap. "Not as much as my agents, or the Reds and Blues. They've suffered so much because of me. God, especially Washington and Carolina. Washington and I are on better terms than we used to be, but he's still sufferin' from the wounds Project Freelancer inflicted on him. Wounds that can never truly heal. And Carolina..."

He clutched his helmet tighter. "I'm not so sure what she's thinkin' anymore. She didn't kill me when she had every reason to, and yet she didn't leave me for dead or to be arrested. But at the same time, she still doesn't seem to want anythin' to do with me. I mean, not that I blame her for that, I certainly wouldn't want anythin' to do with me, but why would she bother to spare my life in the first place if that was how she really felt?"

"Maybe the fact that she saved you means she wants to give you another chance?" Dr. Grey suggested. "Maybe she believes that you can grow from your mistakes?"

Dallas shook his head. "I'm not so sure that's the case..."

Dr. Grey paused for a moment, her finger gently tapping the part of her helmet where her mouth was located. "You know, maybe she misses her father?"

Dallas glanced at her, an eyebrow raised. "Come again?" he asked, perplexed.

"You know, maybe she misses how close the two of you used to be," Dr. Grey said.

"Carolina's a smart woman," Dallas said wistfully. "She, of all people, would be smart enough not to miss someone like me in her life..."

"But maybe she does," Dr. Grey said. "I mean, from what you told me, it sounds like she lost a mother AND a father all those years ago. Even if you did a lot of things that made her resent you, maybe she still has the tiniest bit of hope that you learned from your mistakes and can be that father again."

Dallas glanced down at his helmet again, and a desperate hope that Dr. Grey's theory was far from the truth tugged at his insides. Carolina may have spared his life, but she wasn't a little girl anymore. She deserved to live her life without worrying about someone who hurt her for so long, someone who lost his chance to be the father she needed.

"Why don't we change the subject?" he said aloud. "I've gone on about my own issues long enough and I'm sure it's not doin' any favors to your mood."

"I don't mind listening!" Dr. Grey assured him. "But if you'd rather talk about something else, I could always bring up those 'dirty little secrets of mine?"

Dallas cleared his throat. "No, no, that's alright!"

Dr. Grey cackled wildly. "Alright, alright, you got me. I don't really have any dirty little secrets! Or, at least, none that are particularly interesting. I mean, there's a few horror stories here and there. Fixing some broken bones, pulling bullets out of shoulders, the usual. But overall I'm just a simple doctor, trying to live her life one day at a time."

"I envy your optimistic look on life," Dallas said. "I'd imagine it can be hard to maintain in a time of war..."

"Oh, goodness, you have no idea!" she said. "But as long as I'm still alive, I'll do what I can to help put an end to this war and save as many people as I can in the process."

Dallas gave her a nod. "You're a good person, Dr. Grey."

She remained silent for a moment, before she reached up to remove her own helmet, revealing a mess of short, black hair and a smile so wide that Dallas wouldn't be surprised if it fell right off her face. "You can call me Emily."

Dallas returned her smile with a small one of his own. "Well, then, you're a good person, Emily."

Her smiled widened further as she neatly set her helmet in her lap. "You know, Dallas, you may not believe it, but you're a good person, too."

Dallas shook his head. "Let's not start tellin' lies."

"I'm serious," she said. "I mean, you've done a lot of bad things, but it sounds like you've done just as many good things. And you certainly sound like you feel guilty for everything you've done. A bad man wouldn't feel the kind of guilt you're feeling over the things he did wrong."

"I still think that's a bit of a stretch," he said. "I've done plenty more bad than good in my life. But...I will admit, I am attemptin' to be a better person than I was previously."

"And I'm sure Carolina notices that, too," Dr. Grey said. "Maybe if the two of you talked about things, you might be able to get some kind of closure."

Dallas looked down at his hands. "You know, it's funny...Tucker said something similar back in the canyon we were stranded in. I mean, the context was slightly different, but he pretty much said the same thing. About how it was never too late to talk things out with her."

"Well, see?" she said cheerfully. "It can't be terrible advice if more than one person gave it to you!"

"I'm not so sure that's an entirely accurate statement," Dallas pointed out. "But...perhaps you do have a point. I mean, I'll never know how Carolina really feels about me unless I take the opportunity to actually sit down and talk to her, right? Even if my theory is correct, and she wants me out of her life forever, at least I'll know for sure. And...well, I'll have the chance to respect her wishes."

"That's the spirit!" Dr. Grey said with a hearty slap to the back of his armor.

He swayed a bit from the strength of her gesture. "Easy now, I'm not as young as the other soldiers."

"Whoops, sorry about that!" she said with a laugh. "Don't know my own strength sometimes!"

Dallas chuckled softly as he let his gaze shift to the forest scene before them. It felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The sense of guilt was still there, not to mention the uncertainty of what Carolina would say when he finally had a chance to talk to her now lingered over him, but he had managed to finally talk about Allison, about Project Freelancer. He had managed to get so many things off his chest. And now he felt, for lack of a better term, _okay_.

It had been years since he had felt any sort of genuinely positive emotions that weren't overshadowed by a sensation of guilt or numbness. He'd felt happiness before, but it was always a sort of hollow happiness that never lasted. But now...it was like a warmth growing inside him. Small, but still there and desperately trying to grow bigger and make itself known.

For the first time in a long time, he felt genuinely hopeful about things. There was always a chance that the feeling would fade, and it was definitely not strong enough to completely wipe away the rest of his negative emotions, but it was definitely a huge step away from the emotional state he had been in for so many years.

A sudden flash illuminated the clearing and Dallas jumped to his feet as Blue Team appeared before them. "You're back!" he said, as he slipped his helmet back into place over his head.

"How'd it go?" Dr. Grey asked cheerfully, following suit.

"You FUCKING jackass!" Epsilon yelled, his shrill voice echoing through the forest. "Why the FUCK did you do that?!"

"Church, we were running out of time!" Tucker tried to say. "We were sitting ducks out there!"

"I was almost done!" Epsilon said angrily. "A few more seconds and I would have had it!"

"You don't know that!" Tucker argued.

"What the f-I'M A FUCKING COMPUTER!" Epsilon's voice was so loud, a swarm of birds scattered from their nesting spot in one of the nearby trees. "I KNOW how close I was! Why the fuck can't you trust me?!"

"Maybe because you're acting like a huge fucking prick!"

"Okay, hold on..." Dallas had approached the group. "What happened?"

"What happened?!" Epsilon asked. "Tucker fucking interrupted me while I was transferring the information we needed and now we don't have any of it!"

"Pirates were surrounding us!" Tucker explained. "We would have all been shot if we didn't leave! Not that it would have affected your computer ass!"

"Oh, DON'T even start, Tucker!"

Another flash, and the Red Team appeared beside the Blues. "One manifest, hot and ready to go!" Sarge said proudly. "No need to thank us!"

Epsilon huffed angrily. "Well, at least THEY got theirs! Unlike—CABOOSE!"

"Yes, that is who I am!" Caboose said cheerfully.

"NO—"

Before anyone could question Epsilon's outburst, a mercenary faded into sight behind Caboose and grabbed him from behind. A sharp knife was tightly clutched in his free hand, and he seemed more-than-eager to plunge the blade into the side of Caboose's neck.

He never got the chance.

Carolina knocked the mercenary to the forest floor before he could even process she was there, and the group stared in shock at his now unconscious body.

"Where the Hell did he come from?!" Washington asked.

"He must've teleported back with us!" Epsilon said.

Dallas wasn't focused on the mercenary or his surprised team. His gaze was locked on Carolina, who had sunk to one knee after saving Caboose. A wave of fear rushed over him as he realized why she might not have risen back to her feet. "Carolina, is your leg—"

"Yes..." she managed to say, her words followed by a pained groan.

"Oh, my God..." Dallas said. "Emily, she needs help!"

"Out of the way, doctor on the case!" Dr. Grey said, pushing past the Reds and Blues as she hurried towards Carolina.

Dallas decided to follow her out of worry, knowing he would get an earful from Epsilon later. He would take every bit of it as long as Carolina was alright. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a little spark of blue flicker near his shoulder as he knelt down besides Dr. Grey while she examined the wound. He waited for the inevitable (and understandable) bout of anger from Epsilon, but the AI remained surprisingly quiet.

"Epsilon—"

"It's fine," Epsilon said, not taking his gaze off Carolina. "For now..."

Dallas gave him an appreciated nod, not taking his own gaze off Carolina. He felt his stomach turn at the sight of her wound, though he had a feeling it wasn't the wound that was making him feel queasy.

"Wowie, that's a lot of blood!" Dr. Grey said. "But it's nothing I can't handle! Everything's going to be alright."

 _Everything's going to be alright..._ Those words took hold of Dallas while he watched Dr. Grey work. He looked to Epsilon, who was now back at his usual spot beside Carolina's shoulder. He could hear Washington and the others work to restrain the mercenary behind him, followed by the sound of handcuffs jingling together ("God damn it, Donut!")

_Everything's going to be alright..._

He thought about the conversation he and Emily had shared in the teams' absences. How lighter he had felt after getting years of tension off his shoulders. How hopeful he had felt. How he never wanted to let this feeling go.

_Everything's going to be alright..._

He watched as Dr. Grey finished bandaging up the wound and Carolina rose slowly to her feet, only to hurry towards the direction of the unconscious mercenary. Dallas considered calling her back, but was stopped by the feeling of Washington's hand on his shoulder.

"Can you come with me for a second?"


	29. Part 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this took longer than usual to post. I got no excuses, I've just been taking a lot more me-time lately. Hopefully the next chapter will not take as long to post. But hey, more talking in this one, with a number of characters. Though not all the talking is as pleasant as Emily and Dallas's previous conversation.

Despite his concerns about Carolina's injury, Dallas decided to follow Washington after a brief assurance from Dr. Grey that Carolina would be alright and an elated wave from Caboose ("Did you see that pirate guy, Dallas? Ah, I think my life flashed before my eyes! It was amazing!") as they passed by the others. With his attention now away from Carolina, Dallas couldn't help but notice a lack of a certain aqua-teal-turquoise soldier amongst the Reds and Caboose.

"Agent Washington, where is Tucker?" he asked, as he followed Washington further away from the group and towards an area of the forest that they had yet to explore.

"He took off after we restrained the mercenary," Washington explained, stepping over a low shrub. "He went this way..."

Dallas couldn't help but look around at their surroundings as they pressed onward. Many of the trees looked old and worn, as if they'd been growing for hundreds of years, and glowing, purple vines weaved in and out between the thick roots. Despite their dire situation and his lack of knowledge in the field of botany, Dallas couldn't deny that Chorus offered a beautiful array of natural flora. It wasn't enough to distract him from the task at hand, but it was definitely calming.

"So what really happened back there?" Dallas asked curiously, turning his attention back to Washington. "At the crash site?"

Washington stopped walking, and let out a heavy sigh. "Okay...so, Tucker was right about us being surrounded. We were there for about two minutes before we were swarmed by mercenaries."

"You were attacked almost immediately after teleportin'?" Dallas asked. "That seems rather suspicious, doesn't it?"

Washington shrugged. "Carolina did say that there might be a group of them in the area. Guess we just got really unlucky with our timing or maybe they had a general idea of what we were planning and assigned a group of soldiers to the area as a precaution. Either way, we were surrounded so Tucker decided to get us out of there before someone got killed. But...well, like Epsilon said, we weren't able to get the data we needed because of it. And if the mercs weren't aware of our plans before, then they're definitely aware now, which means we won't get a chance to go back and try again."

"That is troublin'," Dallas said. "But, at the very least, Red Team managed to complete their part of the mission and everyone made it back alive."

Washington nodded. "Honestly, I think Tucker made the right choice," he said. "I mean, we were still followed back by one soldier, but things could have definitely gone a lot worse."

"It definitely seemed like the smartest decision, given the circumstances," Dallas said in agreement. "But I'll admit I'm hesitant to argue with Epsilon about anythin', even if I know he's in the wrong. I'm already on thin ice with him as it is, and he seems more on edge than usual."

"Well, I mean, can you blame him?" Washington asked. "I mean, he did return to his team only to find them strongly attached to someone he hates. Remember how on edge _I_ was back in the canyon?"

"How could I forget?" Dallas said. "But I'm not sayin' I don't understand his behavior. And I can handle his anger when it's directed towards me, because quite frankly, he has every right to be hostile towards me. What bothers me is the fact that he's also directin' said hostility towards Tucker and Caboose. I may deserve it, but they certainly don't. And I'm not okay with the fact that he's possibly hurt Tucker with his words."

"I'm sure Tucker's alright," Washington said with a casual brush of his hand. "It's kind of the Reds' and Blues' thing, you know? Insulting each other to show how much they care, or something..."

"Yes, I'm well aware," Dallas said. "But there's a difference between a playful insult among friends, and one that's meant to, well, insult. And while Tucker is the kind of person who tends to hide his emotions behind a thick layer of ingrained masculinity—" That managed to get a laugh out of Washington. "—he's not made of stone. He has his breakin' point like anyone else. And if Epsilon has pushed him to that breaking point—"

"You've really grown attached to him and Caboose, haven't you?"

Dallas noticed that Washington was staring at him intently after asking this question, as if he were expecting a certain answer. "Well, yes, of course I have," Dallas said truthfully. "When you spend a long period time with a particular group of individuals...they have a tendency to, more often than not, grow on you. And a desire to protect them from those who intend to cause them harm often blooms from such feelings."

Washington gave him an understanding nod. "Yeah, I...I know the feeling all too well."

"Hold on," Dallas said, a finger pointed ahead. "There he is."

Sure enough, Tucker stood a few yards ahead of them beside a patch of glowing flowers. He had his back to Dallas and Washington, and whether or not he was aware of their presence was still unknown. Washington gestured for Dallas to follow him again, and the two continued forward. 

"Hey, Tucker," Washington said to get his attention.

Hearing his name, Tucker instinctively lifted his head and turned to face his teammates. "Oh, hey guys."

"We noticed you ran off by yourself after that conversation with Epsilon," Dallas said. "Is everything okay?"

Tucker shrugged. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he insisted. "How's Carolina?"

"She'll be alright," Washington said. "Dr. Grey got her all patched up."

Dallas didn't respond. While he appreciated Tucker's concern for Carolina, he could definitely tell that Tucker was not as 'okay' as he claimed to be. His tone was identical to the one he had used after he returned from his mission back in the New Republic. Low, guilty, unsure of how to process how he was feeling...

"Tucker, are you sure you're okay?" Dallas asked. "You know you can talk to us if you need to."

Tucker hesitated to answer, his gaze down at the forest floor. "Eh, maybe there is something I need to talk about. But...it's kind of personal."

"Tucker, does it have to do with another rash?" Washington asked in annoyance, arms crossed. "Because if it does, I swear—"

"No, no, it's not that!" Tucker insisted. "It's just... Okay, listen, if I tell you guys, can you, like, promise not to judge me or anything? It's probably going to sound stupid..."

"Oh, shit, you're...actually being serious, aren't you?" Washington asked in disbelief, letting his arms fall to his side.

"Yeah, I'm being serious!" Tucker said defensively. "Ugh, maybe this is a bad idea..."

So Tucker did have some issues he needed to discuss. "We're here for you, Tucker," Dallas assured him. "You can tell us anythin'. Right, Washington?"

Washington's gaze shifted between Dallas and Tucker for a moment, before it finally landed back on Tucker. "He's right, Tucker. Whatever you need to talk about, we'll listen. And refrain from judging."

Tucker sighed heavily. "I...I'm just sick of screwing up all the time, okay? There, I said it! I'm sick of it!"

"Is this about what happened with Epsilon?" Washington asked.

"Well, yeah, but it's not the only thing," Tucker said, as he began to pace back and forth in front of his teammates. "It's just that...Well, Dallas has been working his ass off to be a better person. I mean, he did all that Freelancer shit in the past and he's still dealing with it now, and yet he's still trying to do the right thing. Helping people, being smart about stuff instead of just being a dick like the rest of us. That's...I don't know, that's just kinda cool." 

Tucker's pacing slowed to a stop. "And after we all got separated, and he kept trying to keep us all together and be a decent guy while Wash was gone, I figured, 'hey, maybe I should do that, too?'"

So Tucker's behavior as of late had been indirectly based off Dallas's own choices. Dallas felt a sense of pride spreading through his body that momentarily overshadowed the feelings of worry for his teammate.

"Wow, Tucker, that's actually very mature of you," Washington said in awe, articulating Dallas's thoughts. "I'm impressed."

"As am I, Tucker," Dallas said. "Not to mentioned flattered. All the choices you've made as of late...Were they really inspired by my own?"

"Well, yeah," Tucker admitted. "I mean, kinda. I don't know, I just thought that maybe if I tried to make smarter decisions, we'd find Wash and the others quicker." 

Tucker began to pace again, while gesturing wildly with his hands. "But...now it just feels like every choice I make is the worst! I mean, it was my idea for us to go to the Feds' base, and look how well that turned out! And Dallas, you remember that mission that got my most of my team killed! I made the choice that caused that." His hands dropped to his sides. "It's frustrating, you know? I'm trying to do a good job, but what's the point in trying to be better if it only makes things worse?"

"Tucker," Washington said softly. "I know I wasn't around for anything that happened at the New Republic, but I'm sure that whatever happened wasn't your fault."

"It _wasn't_ his fault," Dallas confirmed. "Felix was the one who took him and his team on that mission. It was likely just one of his tricks."

"Yeah, and he was also the one who was going on and on about how 'I was totally awesome' and how 'I took a risk and it paid off'," Tucker pointed out bitterly. "And I was stupid enough to believe that he actually wanted to help us."

"We all fell for his manipulation, Tucker," Dallas said. "It doesn't mean you're stupid. And it doesn't mean that every decision you make will be the wrong one."

"But what if it does?" Tucker asked, crossing his arms. "What if I just keep fucking up and make the wrong choices every time? Then what the fuck do I do?"

"Your decision to go to the Federal Army's base wasn't the wrong choice," Dallas said. "We managed to find Washington and the Reds, and even uncovered the mercenaries' true plans, which will allow us to take action and start formulatin' a plan to stop them for good."

"And your quick thinking back at the crash site got everyone out of there before the situation escalated," Washington added. "Sure, it might not have gone as smoothly as planned. But considering we're all still alive, I'd say that means you're doing _something_ right."

"Yeah, well, Church didn't seem to think so," Tucker muttered.

Washington and Dallas exchanged a knowing look. "Tucker, I know being a leader is frustrating," Washington said. " _Trust me,_ I know. And you won't always know what to do, and sometimes mistakes will happen. But it doesn't mean you should ignore all the progress you've already made. I mean, compare who you are now to who you were back in Blood Gulch. Do you really believe you're the same person you were back then?"

"Would it be terrible if I said I kinda wish I was?" Tucker asked unhappily.

"Yes!" Washington said. "You were a terrible person!"

"Wash, what the fuck?!" Tucker asked, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm over here spilling my guts and you come at me like that? Low blow, man."

"Washington..." Dallas said in a scolding tone. "I don't think that's helpful..."

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," Washington said, hands raised defensively. "Just trying to lighten the mood a bit. But in all honestly, Tucker, you _are_ a much better person than you were all those years ago. And the decisions you've been making lately prove it. Sure, you've made mistakes but do you honestly think everyone's going to go through life without making them?"

"It's like the conversation we shared back at the New Republic," Dallas told Tucker. "Makin' a wrong choice here and there doesn't automatically make you a terrible person. If anythin', it just means you're human."

"Yeah, I guess that's true," Tucker said, his tone still unsure. "But..."

"Wash! Dallas!"

The sound of Simmons's voice and rapid footsteps interrupted their conversation and all three soldiers turned to see Simmons hurrying towards them in a panicked fashion. He eventually slowed to a stop once he reached them, and took a moment to catch his breath before he spoke: "You two need to come talk to Carolina right now!"

"Why? What's wrong?" Washington asked.

"The pirate regained consciousness," Simmons explained. "And she's been trying to get information out of him but nothing's working."

"She's supposed to be restin' her leg, not interrogatin' our prisoner," Dallas said.

Simmons let out a nervous chuckle. "Well, uh... can you tell her that? Because, you see, she's a little upset."

"How upset are we talking?" Washington asked.

The sound of something big and heavy crashing against another object echoed throughout the forest, immediately followed by an enraged outburst in the direction of the rest of the group. Simmons seemed to tense up at both sounds, and he let out a small sigh of relief as the forest fell silent again. "I'd say very," he said in a low voice.

Dallas shook his head and looked towards Tucker. "Tucker, do you mind if we—"

"Nah, go do your thing," Tucker said. "I...I think I'm good for now anyway."

Dallas hesitated for a moment. Tucker didn't seem to be completely out of his current funk and Dallas knew all too well that being left alone with negative thoughts would not result in a positive outcome, especially if Tucker continued to repress so much of his emotional state. But Tucker quickly hurried after Washington and Simmons, so all Dallas could do was follow suit.

Dallas quickly realized that Simmons was leading them in a different direction than the one they had originally come from in their search for Tucker. And once they stepped out of the trees and into a new clearing, he understood why. The group had gathered near an old building that was settled near the base of a nearby bluff that cast a mighty shadow over this particular area of the forest.

"What is this place?" he asked Simmons.

"An old lab, according to Dr. Grey," Simmons said. "Carolina put the mercenary inside so she could interrogate him without interruption. But as I said before, that isn't going so well..."

"Why. Won't. He. TALK?!"

Once again, Carolina's outburst echoed through the forest and, as Dallas watched, a large metal object came soaring out from a grove of trees near the base of the bluff. The metallic object (it appeared to be some kind of barrel) whizzed past them and collided with a nearby rock with the same crashing sound that they had heard earlier.

While Simmons seemed to slink towards Grif out of fear, the other soldiers seemed unaffected by Carolina's anger. If anything, Sarge and Epsilon seemed to be enjoying the show, as their gazes followed another barrel that met the same, crushing fate as the first.

"No doubt about it," Epsilon was saying as Dallas approached them. "She definitely takes after her mother."

"What was her mother?" Sarge asked. "A silverback gorilla on steroids?"

"Excuse me?" Dallas asked crossly, arms folded in an irritated fashion.

Epsilon turned to look at Dallas. "Oh, you know what?" he said in a smug tone. "I stand corrected. Her father is definitely more hotheaded than her mother. I mean, we're talking volcanic levels of hotheaded-ness. So hot it's causing global warming! Al Gore hates him! Then again, so does everyone else he meets."

"Well, I sure as heck wouldn't want to meet either of them!" Sarge said naively. "Sounds like a whole hotheaded family of hotheads! Or maybe I should meet them. See if they'd want to be part of Red Team and channel that anger into something useful! Would definitely be an improvement over Grif, that's for dang sure!"

Dallas shook his head and watched as another metal object hit the rock. "She's just frustrated, is all," he said. "But what I'd like to know is why she's not restin' her injury."

"Oh, do YOU want to be the one to tell her to stop?" Epsilon asked. "Go ahead, I'd love to see her chuck you against a rock."

"I'm going to take a guess and say that things aren't going well," Washington said.

"You still got the manifest?" Tucker asked Epsilon.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Epsilon replied, arms folded. "But the Reds did manage to bring back a completely intact drive with the ship's records and manifest. So this mission wasn't a total failure."

Dallas tensed at Epsilon's words. "Tucker managed to bring everyone back in one piece," he said slowly. "I'd definitely call the mission a success."

"Oh, you'd call it a success?" Epsilon asked angrily, teleporting to a spot that was less than an inch from Dallas's visor. "Well, how's this for successful? The documents on the drive that the Reds brought back are all locked up tight!"

"Wait, what?" Grif asked. "What do you mean locked up tight?"

Epsilon huffed irritably. "I mean that the last time you were on board the ship, you accessed its records. However, since you didn't have the proper clearance, the files are now in security lock down. Meaning it's going to take a while before I can get into them and figure out who's behind this whole operation."

"Can't you just hack them?" Tucker asked. "I mean, like, aren't you like, part of the Matrix now?"

"Oh, why don't I just hack it?!" Epsilon asked, the pitch of his voice growing higher with every word. "That's a _great_ idea, Tucker! And while I'm at it, why don't I reverse the polarity, download the mainframe, and cross the streams while I'm at it? It's not that fucking simple, Tucker!"

"Yes, well, treatin' Tucker that way isn't going to make matter easier, Epsilon," Dallas said, unable to hold back. "Don't get angry at him for somethin' out of his control."

"Oh, you got something you want to say to me, Dallas?!" Epsilon asked heatedly. "Because I'm all fucking ears!"

Dallas could see the others watching their argument out of the corner of his eye, and he took a deep breath in an attempt to keep himself calm and collected. Getting angry would only make things worse. "All I'm sayin' is that I know you're upset, and I know this isn't the most ideal situation for you," he continued, as Tucker and Sarge both seemed to take a step back from their conversation. "But that is no excuse to take your anger out on people who don't deserve it."

"Oh, like you're one to talk about taking your anger out on people who don't deserve it," Epsilon asked aggressively. "Tell me, how are those Freelancers doing again?"

"Epsilon, I think I'm the _most_ qualified person here to do such a thing, BECAUSE of what happened durin' Project Freelancer," Dallas said, concerned. "Listen, I know you're angry at me, and you have every right to be—"

"Oh, trust me, angry is a huge understatement," Epsilon said, as he leaned closer to Dallas's helmet and pressed one of his holographic fingers against the visor. "I think a better term would be 'brimming with an endless amount of hatred and fury'."

"Understandable, but—"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Both Dallas and Epsilon turned to see Carolina standing there, her helmet balanced on her hip and a perplexed expression on her face as she stared at them. 

"He was just sticking his nose where it doesn't belong," Epsilon explained. "But what else is new?"

" _Thank you,_ Epsilon," Carolina said, not taking her eyes off Dallas.

It suddenly hit Dallas that it had been weeks, possibly months, since he had last seen Carolina without her helmet, and a wave of concern for the state of her well-being washed over him again. Her long, red hair was tied back into its usual messy ponytail, but a good portion had been chopped off in an uneven fashion, probably by her. Her bright-green eyes, those eyes that mirrored his, looked sunken in and worn as if she hadn't slept in ages.

"No luck with the prisoner, huh?" Epsilon asked.

Carolina shook her head. "I don't get it. He's not giving up ANYTHING!"

"Well, perhaps you should give someone else a chance to interrogate him while you rest that leg of yours," Dallas suggested. "You look like you could use a break."

"My leg is fine," Carolina insisted. "And unless there's someone else here experienced in making people talk, I'm going back in there and trying again. Maybe he'll open up if I put a couple of dents in his rib cage—"

"Excuse me?"

Dr. Grey's voice interrupted their conversation and all heads turned towards her. "I was just washing Carolina's blood off my armor so I might be a little out of the loop," she said. "Did you say the prisoner is awake?"

"Awake and uncooperative," Carolina said.

"I see," Dr. Grey said thoughtfully. "Well, if it's not too much to ask, perhaps I could have a conversation with him? Maybe I can convince him to spill a few things?"

"Yeah? What could you do to him that Carolina couldn't?" Epsilon asked, his hologram disappearing and reappearing above Carolina's shoulder.

Dr. Grey giggled. "Well, considering he and his partners turned a good portion of my friends into ash, I'd say there's a lot I could do to him right now. In fact, I think someone that sick is long overdue for a checkup~!"

"Fine," Carolina said reluctantly. "You go interrogate him for now."

"Good to hear it!" Dr. Grey said cheerfully. "In the meantime, you should rest that leg like Dallas said. The more you walk around it it, the longer it'll take to heal."

Carolina let out a defiant noise. "Fine..."

Dr. Grey gave a nod and began to make her way towards the building where the prisoner waited. "And _you_ should try to talk to her while she's resting," she said softly as she passed Dallas. "Or not, if you'd rather wait. I could always...take my time with the prisoner. I mean, the most successful methods of torture are ones that have long-lasting effects—"

"Emily, please don't actually kill the man," Dallas said. "Just do what you can to make him tell us what we want to know. And...in the meantime, I'll see what I can do about talkin' to Carolina."

"That's the spirit!" she said cheerfully. "Good luck!"

He nodded. "And good luck to you."

Dallas watched as she continued on her way towards the lab, before he turned his gaze to Carolina, who had seated herself by the rock that had previously been acquainted with the metallic objects she had thrown its way. She had begun to push said objects to the side in order to clear some space for her injured leg.

Dallas hadn't taken more than two steps towards her when Epsilon appeared before his visor again. "And where the hell do you think you're going?" Epsilon asked.

Dallas sighed. "Epsilon, I just want to make sure she's okay."

"She said she's fine," Epsilon said, his arms once again folded across his chest. "And as long as you stay away from her, she'll stay that way. I may have kept my mouth shut earlier about you getting close to her, because honestly, I was worried about her, too. But that doesn't mean you suddenly get a free pass to go near her again!"

"While I can understand your concern, I believe that kind of decision should be left up to her and her alone," Dallas said, his own arms crossed in an identical fashion to Epsilon's. "Don't you think?"

Epsilon scoffed. "Oh, don't even try that shit! Half the shit you did to her wasn't _her_ decision so don't act like you suddenly care about what she wants."

"Epsilon!" Carolina called from her spot.

Epsilon looked towards her for a moment, before turning back to Dallas. "Seriously, stay the fuck away from her. Last thing she needs right now is to get hurt again."

Dallas was silent as Epsilon's form disappeared from sight for a moment, before the familiar little blue hologram flickered into view near Carolina's face. He just stared at them for a moment, his thoughts swimming as they started a conversation he could not hear from his current spot. Epsilon seemed to be waving his arms in some dramatic fashion while Carolina let him carry on, her tired expression only further illuminated by the blue glow from his body.

_Last thing she needs right now is to get hurt again..._

"Hey, Dallas?" 

Tucker's voice snapped Dallas's attention away from Carolina and Epsilon and he turned to see his teammate standing beside him. "Uh, you alright?" Tucker asked. "We kinda heard you and Church, and...yeah."

"Yes, I'm fine," Dallas assured him. "What about you?"

Tucker shrugged. "Church is being a bigger prick than usual, but hey, I'll live. It's not like it's the first time he's been a royal pain in the ass."

"Well, I don't know if I would necessarily call him that," Dallas said. "Though, his attitude towards you and the others as of late does rub me the wrong way."

"Heh, speaking of rubbing," Tucker said, his tone mischievous. "What were you and Grey whispering about? Did you two have some fun while we were gone? Heh, I'll bet she psychoanalyzed a couple of things about you other than just your mind. Bow chicka bow wow~!"

Well, at least Tucker seemed to be back to his normal self after their previous conversation. Dallas felt himself relax at the thought. "Very funny, Tucker. All we did was sit and talk about a few things, which she brought up again. Life stories, problems, the like. She's a fascinatin' individual."

"'Fascinating individual?'" Tucker repeated in disbelief. "Wow, I can't believe YOU were the guy Church was based off."

Sudden howls of agony from the lab shattered the forest's usually calm ambiance, and several of the men instinctively clasped their hands over the spots on their helmets where their ears were located. Sarge had his weapon cocked and at the ready in case of attack, while Caboose seemed overall unaffected by the noise. Dallas could even see Carolina sliding her helmet back into place over her head in an attempt to block out the sounds, and Epsilon's hologram seem to glitch painfully from the pitch of the screams.

Dallas's first thought was that the prisoner had escaped and Dr. Grey was in trouble. But the thought quickly faded when he heard the sounds of jovial, operatic singing and the mechanical whirring of a saw over the pained wailing of the prisoner.

"What the fuck is she doing to him?!" Grif asked in horror.

"Sarge, I'm scared!" Simmons cried, practically cowering behind Grif.

"We're all scared, Simmons," Sarge said. "Well, except for me, of course."

The screaming stopped almost as instantaneously as it had started, and the singing and mechanical sounds faded to silence before Dr. Grey exited the building and headed towards the group with a giddy bounce in her step.

"His name's Zachary Miller," she informed them. "He's ex-military, and he was kind enough to hand over the coordinates to a nearby radio jamming tower."

"You're fucking kidding," Tucker said in disbelief.

"No, silly, I'm Dr. Grey!" she said with a laugh. "Ha, dad joke!"

Carolina rose from her spot by the boulder and approached Dr. Grey. "Think he's in a position to answer a few more questions?" she asked.

Dr. Grey laughed again. "Well, he will be once I put him back together! Just give me a few minutes."

The group watched as she turned and skipped back towards the lab, humming a merry tune to herself as she hurried along. 

Tucker turned to face Dallas. "You know what, I take it back," he said. "Being attracted to a chick that could probably kill you? You and Church are absolutely the same person."

"Yes, _thank you_ , Tucker," Dallas said crossly.

"Wait, what did he just say?" Carolina asked, before she shook her head. "Never mind. Wash, can you come help me interrogate the prisoner? Or whatever's left of him?"

"Yeah, no problem," Washington said. "Lead the way."

Just as Dr. Grey had done, the Freelancers set off in the direction of the laboratory, and the Reds and Blues fell silent once more. Dallas contemplated following after Carolina and Washington to assist with the interrogation, but the thought of Epsilon further scolding him turned him off to that idea.

Epsilon...

The AI had been usually hostile as of late, not just towards Dallas, but towards the other soldiers as well. Dallas could only guess as to what might be the cause of his behavior, and each guess seemed more likely than the last. His mere existence, the fact that he was now a part of Epsilon's team, the fact that they had practically accepted him as one of their own...

Or perhaps it was something completely unrelated to him, and to assume that he had anything to do with Epsilon's behavior was a selfish thought on his part. If only he could have a proper conversation with Epsilon, one that didn't end in disaster, and help him figure out what was wrong. But to expect Epsilon to sit down and talk with him in a civilized manner was another selfish thought. Epsilon did not trust him, had every reason to not trust him, and no amount of talking or pleading would probably change the AI's mind. So Dallas was stuck between a rock and a hard place when it came to helping him.

And then there was Carolina. Epsilon had told him to stay away, but Dr. Grey had told him to try and talk to her. It was just yet another rock and hard place Dallas found himself wedged between, though he felt like the space between them was even more constricting than the space between his issues regarding Epsilon. Dr. Grey was an intelligent woman, but she had only known him for a few hours. She might have had an idea of the events that took place during Project Freelancer, but she didn't know the full extent of the pain he had inflicted on them.

Maybe Epsilon was right. Maybe he didn't deserve that closure with Carolina. Maybe he didn't deserve to talk with her. Maybe it was best he stayed away from her for good.

"Dallas! Tucker! Sarge!"

Washington's urgent voice over the radio interrupted his thoughts. "What's wrong?" Dallas asked.

"More pirates incoming!" Washington said. "Get ready to fight!"

"Battle stations, men!" Sarge ordered, as the sounds of gunshot filled the air.

"Get to the lab!" Washington instructed them. "We can hold them off from here as long as you hurry!"

"We're on it, Wash," Tucker said. 

Dallas hurried with the others towards the safety of the lab, as the gunshots grew louder and more frequent. More pirates? Had the prisoner found a way to contact his teammates and inform them of his location?

"What the Hell's going on?!" Tucker asked, echoing Dallas's thoughts as they entered the lab.

"They're surrounding us!" Epsilon said.

"How the Hell do they keep finding us?!" Carolina asked, before putting a bullet in the head of one of their attackers.

"Fuck if I know!" Epsilon said. "Are we being followed? Is there an informant? Tracking device?!"

Dallas noticed Washington lower his gun and turn his head towards Caboose, who was absentmindedly shooting any approaching pirates. "Yes, I am sorry, but you cannot come in here! This is home base and you are not allowed!" he said innocently.

 _A tracking device..._ Something small, that appeared innocent enough....

Like the brain of a destroyed robot...

Dallas noticed a pile of teleportation cubes on a shelf behind where Washington stood. They had likely been taken from the prisoner or had just been left behind by the previous users when the lab was abandoned. "Washington, we have to leave now!" he said loudly over the sound of the guns.

Washington turned to see what Dallas was staring at, and picked up one of the cubes. "Grab as many as you can, we can always use more."

Dallas had already begun storing as many cubes as he could within the compartments of his armor. He managed to grab about half the pile before Washington threw his own cube to the floor and the ground disappeared beneath them as they teleported out of the laboratory.

The sensation of teleporting was almost identical to their first trip, and Dallas once again found himself to his knees from the nauseating feeling that was forming in his stomach. Ignoring the others' sickly groans of unhappiness, he glanced around at their new location as he tried to refocus his vision.

A new location with an all-too-familiar building that housed one of the mercenaries' poor, unsuspecting victim inside a bathroom stall.

"The fuelin' station we passed earlier?" Dallas said slowly. "Why did we teleport here?"

"It was probably the location programmed into the cube," Washington said. "But that's not important right now."

"Yeah, you know what is important?" Tucker said, coughing as he pulled himself to his feet. "Figuring out why those assholes keep finding us! Are they following us?!"

"It's Freckles," Washington said, with a look towards Caboose. "Freckles is the tracking device."


	30. Part 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
>  
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirty. Chapters. I cannot believe how far TDOPFLID has come. I'm so proud of my fic and so grateful for all the support its received! So what better way to reward my readers than with a chapter full of fighting and emotional drama, mostly between friends? :) Haha, I'm not sorry. But I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless <3

"I can't believe you would just accept something from the enemy like that, Wash!"

"It was a lapse in judgement, Carolina," Washington explained hastily. "It won't happen again."

"Yeah, because we'll be DEAD the next time!" Epsilon yelled from inside Freckles' chip.

"Is Freckles going to be okay, Church?" Caboose asked, concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, your pet's fine," Epsilon assured him. "It's an easy code to bypass. Guess those merc assholes put so much energy into making advanced weaponry, they didn't have time to install a proper security system in their tracking device. Just give me another second and I'll have this shit deactivated."

"Speakin' of the mercenaries," Dallas said thoughtfully. "What happened to the prisoner?"

"Disintegrated," Washington explained. "His buddies took him out before they attacked us. I guess they saw him as expendable..."

Dallas was silent for a moment as his gaze moved from Carolina to Washington. He had a feeling that their thoughts matched his in regards to the idea of soldiers betraying one of their own for the sake of a mission, and not a single aspect of said thoughts were comforting. "Did he at least provide us with any information before his death?" he asked aloud.

Carolina nodded. "There's a large tower located at Crash Site Alpha with tractor beams designed to pull ships into the planet's orbit and crash them, leaving the remaining cargo for the mercenaries. It's how our ship was pulled down in the first place."

"However, something of unknown origin caused our ship to be torn apart instead of simply pulled down the planet's surface," Washington added. "From what the prisoner told us, the ship tried to jump to slip-space, change course and power down all at the same time. Which is why there ended up being more than one crash site."

Dallas heard the other soldiers mutter uneasily at Washington's statement, as if they had something to hide in regards to the explanation behind their crashed ship. "That does explain a few things," he said. "Though it seems to create more questions than it answers..."

"So, uh, did you two find out anything else?" Tucker asked hastily. "Anything not related to the ship crashing?"

"Yeah, I'd love to hear anything that isn't related to that," Simmons added.

"Sounds good to me," Grif said in agreement.

"There's also a radio jammer near the coast," Washington said. "If we take it out, we'll be able to make contact with the capitol and work from there to stop the war for good."

"Any information on Control's identity?" Dallas asked.

Carolina shook her head. "Unfortunately, no. According to the mercenary, Locus and Felix are the only ones that Control interacts with, and they supposedly haven't revealed Control's identity to the others. Control does supply the mercenaries with the supplies and weapons needed to complete the mission, but otherwise they supervise from a distance."

"So they're some rich asshole with too much time to spare," Tucker said. "As if we didn't know that already."

"We also found out that there's only a few dozen mercenaries involved in the mission," Washington said. "'Quality over quantity' seems to be their mindset. So the few dozen are probably as experienced as Locus or Felix."

"A group of specifically-picked, highly-trained individuals run by a corrupted leader..." Dallas said in a thoughtful tone as he stared at Washington and Carolina.

"Sounds a little too familiar for comfort, huh?" Carolina asked.

"Unfortunately, Control seems to be more dangerous than the Director ever was," Washington said. "I mean, they've gotten this far in their plans without attracting the UNSC's attention or even revealing their faces to their hired hands. Not even Project Freelancer could accomplish that."

"They're definitely not someone to be taken lightly if they can do all this with such ease," Dallas said in agreement. "Did the prisoner say anythin' else?"

Carolina shook her head. "That was all we managed to get out of him before the others showed up and...well, I believe we mentioned what happened after that."

"And...there we go." There was a click, and Epsilon's hologram appeared above the chip. "Tracking device disabled. No need to thank me."

Tucker let out a noise of annoyance. "No one was going to anyway."

"Oh, fuck off, Tucker!"

Washington shook his head. "So, what's our next move from here?"

"As Carolina said, our next goal should be to take out the radio jammer," Dallas said. "If we can get through to the generals, then—"

"Hey, hey, hey," Epsilon interrupted. "I didn't hear anyone say 'Hey, Dallas, care to give me your opinion on what you think we should do to stop these genocidal assholes?' I mean, granted, you would know more than any of us what goes through the mind of a genocidal asshole, but still—"

"Ugh, not this shit again," Tucker said, exasperated. "Hey, Church, can't you at least let him get a sentence out before you start dragging him?"

"Yeah, ever since you and Carolina got back, you've been really riding his ass," Donut added. "Riding it HARD!"

Grif sighed heavily. "Donut, do you even hear yourself speak?"

"Well, I am deaf in one ear," Donut said innocently, tapping the side of his helmet. "So on this side of my body, nope! Can't hear anything!"

"Ugh, never mind..." Grif muttered.

"Oh, I'm _sorry_ , Tucker," Epsilon said sarcastically, ignoring the others' conversation. "Are you mad because I'm telling your new best friend to be quiet?!"

"Hey, maybe we shouldn't get into this now," Washington said uneasily.

"I think Washington is right," Dallas added. "This isn't the time for—"

"No, I'm about to get into this, _Dallas,_ " Epsilon snapped at him, before turning to the rest of the group. "Ever since I got back, all of you have been acting like he's just another part of the team. That he's not the guy who pretty much ruined all our lives!"

"Hey, we told you before that the whole Freelancer thing wasn't our fight," Grif pointed out. "We never wanted to kill the Director in the first place."

"Not to mention, it was Carolina's idea to keep him alive," Simmons spoke up. "She just kind of brought him out and told him to follow us."

"And then he became our new best friend!" Caboose said proudly.

"Caboose, I really don't think it's the right time for that," Dallas told him softly.

"And it's really not the right time for this argument either, Epsilon," Carolina said to Epsilon.

"But they're acting like he's _not_ the asshole who screwed us over!" Epsilon pointed out. "Come on, Carolina, doesn't that bother you at all?"

"Whether it bothers me or not isn't important right now, Epsilon," Carolina said. "What's important right now is putting a stop to this war."

"I know, that's what I'm TRYING to do!" Epsilon pointed out. "But he's—"

"—also trying to put a stop to the war," Carolina finished for him. "Therefore, he is our ally for the time being."

"I don't care if he's trying to end the war," Epsilon pointed out. "Trusting him will only end in disaster!"

Dallas had to admit that he had been curious about Carolina's decision to let him live since the moment she led him out of that little room and pushed one of the Texes' helmet into his hands (his fingertips instinctively touched the side of his helmet at this memory). She did seem to be keeping something to herself in regards to her reasons for sparing his life, and the curiosity surrounding her decision had never faded completely from Dallas's subconscious, despite the events that had unfolded over the past several weeks.

Why exactly _had_ Carolina spared him? She had claimed that 'he no longer posed a threat, therefore killing him would be pointless' and yet she had stated outright that the police had been on their way to retrieve him (how the Reds and Blues managed to sneak him past them without issue, he'd never understand). So why had she bothered to bring him along with the Reds and Blues? Why not hand him over to the authorities?

What had made her change her mind about killing him or leaving him to die?

"Hey, Church, give the guy a break," Tucker said. "He already feels guilty enough without you bagging on him all the time."

"Oh, he FEELS GUILTY ENOUGH?!" Epsilon's voice had reached that recognizable high pitch that indicated he had surpassed anger and had continued straight on towards enraged. "Well, that just fucking makes up for everything, doesn't it?! In fact, let's all have a fucking tea party with him and talk about our feelings and just be the BEST of friends!"

"Well, I don't know about anyone else, but that sounds like fun!" Caboose said cheerfully.

"Caboose, please..." Dallas said.

"Please what?" Caboose asked.

"Hey, at least he didn't fucking up and leave us in the middle of a random ass canyon on some unknown planet," Tucker said. "At least he did what he could to help us out."

Epsilon let out a hollow laugh. "What the Hell do you think Blood Gulch was, Tucker?! Just some random vacation spot? You do know that he's partially responsible for putting all of you there in the first place, right?! Or did he just forget to tell you that tiny little detail while you were all making each other friendship bracelets?"

"No, no, he told us AFTER that!" Caboose said proudly. "Isn't that right, Dallas?"

Dallas sighed heavily, but made no further attempt to stop Caboose's innocent remarks. "Tucker, Epsilon, this won't solve anythin'—"

"I know all about the shit he's done," Tucker said, ignoring Dallas's comment. "It's kind of hard not to with how much all of you talk about it."

"So why are you so defensive of him?!" Epsilon asked. "Why do you even care about him at all?"

"Why do _you_ care if I do?" Tucker asked, crossing his arms. "You didn't seem to fucking care about any of us when you and Carolina disappeared without so much as a goodbye and left all of us in the middle of a fucking shipwreck! So why do you suddenly care who my friends are now?"

"I told you _why_ we had to leave!" Epsilon yelled. "You think I was just goofing off somewhere on this stupid planet?! If it weren't for me and Carolina, all of you would be dead by now! And newsflash, Tucker, if it weren't for _Dallas_ , you wouldn't be stuck on this fucking planet at all! Hell, you wouldn't have been roped into any of the bullshit we've been through over the past several years! Why can't you understand that, Tucker?!"

"Because unlike you, Dallas actually fucking listens to me!" Tucker said loudly. "He actually gives a shit about me, hell, he gives a shit about most of us! And he doesn't try to act like some rude asshole know-it-all even though he probably DOES know it all! Sure, he's still kind of an asshole, but you know what? We're all fucking assholes! And even then, he's still less of an asshole than the rest of us!"

"He has a point," Grif said. "The guy's unusually caring. It's almost kind of weird to hear, actually. I mean, usually when some old guy with a Southern accent talks to me, I'm always expecting to be insulted."

"Stow it, Grif," Sarge said, almost on cue.

Grif shook his head. "But like, with Dallas, it's different. I mean, even if he thinks we're all idiots, he either plays along with what we're doing or even gives us advice. It's...actually kind of nice."

"He even played along with our travelling game," Simmons said. "I mean, my lame super power was FAR superior, but y'know, he tried."

"I may not have known Dallas for very long," Donut said. "But he definitely gives me this special feeling deep, deep inside. Like a hard, throbbing feeling that penetrates my very being."

"Qué sorpresa [What a surprise]," Lopez said sarcastically. "Pero me imagino que él está bien. [But I guess he's okay.] Él es mucho más tolerable que cualquiera de estos otros idiotas. [He is much more tolerable than any of these other idiots.]"

"See? Even the Reds think he's alright," Tucker continued. "He cares about the people he's trying to help, he's always trying to be a better person even if he knows that it'll never make up for all the bad shit he did..."

"While I appreciate the compliments, this really isn't the time or place to be havin' this conversation," Dallas said.

"You stay out of this!" Epsilon said to him, his voice rising as he turned back to the other soldiers. "And as for the rest of you, I don't give a shit if he rescued orphans and injured puppies from a burning building! He ruined my life! He ruined the Freelancer's lives! And he'll probably end up ruining all your lives, too! He's selfish and manipulative and cruel and no amount of good deeds now is going to ever change that! Honestly, the fact that he's trying so hard to be a better person is just INSULTING to anyone he's already hurt! And if I were any of you, I would do whatever I could to stay as far away from him as possible!"

"Oh, what a fucking shocker," Tucker said, his tone full of spite. "Church's first plan to solve a problem involves staying away from people. Who could have seen that coming?"

" _Tucker!_ " Dallas said in a scolding tone.

"You want to repeat that, asshole?!" Epsilon asked his teammate aggressively.

"Please! Stop this! Can't you see this senseless fighting is tearing us all apart?!"

The entire group fell silent as all eyes turned towards Donut, who was staring back at everyone innocently. "What? Fighting stresses me out, and stress causes wrinkles! I cannot afford to be getting them this early on in my life!"

"Because entering the army when you hate fighting and want to avoid stress makes perfect sense," Grif muttered sarcastically to Simmons.

Even Epsilon looked confused for a moment, before letting out an annoyed sigh. "Okay, you know what? This is getting weird. If anyone needs me, I'll be figuring out ways to keep us all alive for the next twenty-four hours. But hey, it's not like any of you fuckers care, anyway. You got your best friend Dallas to keep you company."

Before anyone could further question or argue with Epsilon, his holographic form disappeared from sight, leaving an even more uncomfortable silence than the last in his place.

Tucker huffed irritably. "Yeah, well, good riddance..."

"I can still hear you, dumbass!"

Tucker shook his head, while Carolina stared at the spot where Epsilon's hologram had been located moments before. "I...I think it'd be best if I went to do a perimeter check," she said. "You know, to make sure Epsilon destroyed the tracking device before they could pinpoint our exact location."

Dallas gave her a nod. He could tell she was just as tired of all this arguing as he was. "Stay safe, alright?"

Carolina gave no response, but simply turned and began to make her way towards the caves near the fueling station. Dallas kept his eyes on her as she went, until the sound of Tucker kicking the dirt and letting out a stream of annoyed curses made him turn back around in time to see his teammate leaning against the nearest tree he could find.

"Fucking cock sucker," Tucker was muttering under his breath. "Like he's one to talk about being an asshole to other people..."

"Tucker, was it really necessary to argue with Epsilon like that?" Dallas asked. "You know that he had very valid points about me and the things I've done..."

"He's still a dick!" Tucker said. "And he acts like he's the only one who _isn't_ a dick!"

"Tucker..."

"Oh, come on, Dallas, you know I'm right!" Tucker said. "He's been a grade-A asshole the entire time he's been back, he refuses to stop trying to pick fights with you, and then he's like 'I'm only trying to protect everyone' when all he's doing is just looking for every chance he can get to yell at someone, usually you. And when it's not you, it's me or Caboose or who-the-fuck-ever else. Which...is kinda how he is normally, but it's still annoying as fuck!"

"Yes, but you antagonizin' him isn't goin' to make matters any easier," Dallas said. "And while I agree that our current situation isn't the best time to be unleashin' his anger, he has every right to _be_ angry and shamin' him like you did wasn't the right thing to do."

"Yeah, well, it's not like he cared about what I had to say before," Tucker muttered.

" _Tucker..._ "

"Look, I don't want to talk about Church anymore..." Tucker said, turning his head away from Dallas.

Dallas sighed heavily and looked towards the direction in which Carolina had headed towards a few minutes ago, letting his gaze land on the entrance to the caves. This whole situation was a mess, and he could feel that guilt of his only growing as a result. One of the main topics of Tucker and Epsilon's fight had been him. If he hadn't been here, perhaps they wouldn't be fighting in the first place. Perhaps the group would have already figured out a plan to stop the mercenaries. Perhaps they would have _already_ stopped them. He could feel his mood drop more and more with each possibility.

"Dallas?"

The sound of Washington's voice caused Dallas to direct his attention towards both Washington and Dr. Grey, who had drifted off to the side of the group. Washington made a gesture for Dallas to come join them. Dallas cast one last look at Tucker before he approached the two of them.

"So...that didn't go so well," Washington stated bluntly.

"I suppose that's one word for it," Dallas said. "A complete disaster would also be an appropriate description."

"My goodness, I've never seen a group with the same cause so turned against each other," Dr. Grey said. "And I've been in this war for quite some time!"

"It's my fault," Dallas said. "I tried to stop them from arguin', but...well, you saw the result."

"Don't blame yourself for this," Washington said. "This argument...it's pretty par for the course for both Tucker AND Epsilon. Chances are they would have had it even without you in the picture."

"But they were arguin' about ME, Washington," Dallas pointed out. "And Epsilon's argument had very strong and accurate points, but the others either shut him down or treated him as if he were overreactin'. I don't know, Washington, I just feel like my presence here is causin' more harm than good lately. I just feel like if I weren't here, Epsilon would be less stressed and not feel the need to lash out at the others, which would make _them_ feel a lot less stressed in return."

"It seems to me that a lot of that stress comes from Epsilon himself," Dr. Grey said thoughtfully, with a look towards Dallas. "Maybe if someone sat him down and had a long talk with him, he'd be able to express his emotions in a safe and controlled environment."

Dallas was silent for a moment as he connected the dots. "Wait, Emily, are you suggestin' that I try talkin' to him?"

"Smart as ever, Dallas!" Dr. Grey said cheerfully.

"Uh, would that really be a good idea?" Washington asked. "I mean, I think we've seen plenty of 'talks' between Epsilon and Dallas, and none of them turned out well."

"I have to agree with Washington," Dallas said. "Especially after what just happened. There's no way I'd be able to get Epsilon to even acknowledge my presence now."

"Listen, you're the main cause of his stress and anger, right?" Dr. Grey asked. 

Dallas nodded. "Unfortunately, yes."

"And you've done everything you can to try and avoid upsetting him because of what you did, right?" Dr. Grey asked further.

"Yes, of course," Dallas said. "But talkin' to him is more than likely to get him riled up, which is the opposite of what we want to accomplish."

"But all you want to do is help him, correct?" Dr. Grey asked.

"Dr. Grey, where are you going with this?" Washington asked, confused.

"Agent Washington," she said. "You said that Dallas had wronged you in the past. I'm safe in assuming that you, Carolina, and Epsilon went through a lot of the same things during Project Freelancer, right?"

Washington looked towards Dallas for a moment. "Well...yeah, yeah we did."

"And how angry were you with Dallas after it happened?" Dr. Grey asked.

Washington shrugged. "Well, I was furious. I hated him, I wanted nothing to do with him."

"And how do you feel about him now?" Dr. Grey asked.

Washington and Dallas exchanged a glance. "Well, I...I don't know if I'll ever be able to truly forgive him for all the things he's done in the past," Washington said slowly. "But...I am more than impressed with how far he's come since joining the Blue Team. He's proven time and again that he has no intent to harm any of the Reds and Blues and he's not only good to them but...well, he treats them like real people and not just soldiers. He helps them with their problems, he listens to them, he even sometimes tries to help them SOLVE their problems."

Washington let out a chuckle. "I guess I'd be lying if I said I wasn't proud of him and how far he's come since his Project Freelancer days."

"Well, thank you, Washington," Dallas said fondly. "That means an awful lot comin' from you."

"And Washington, how did you come to feel that way about him?" Dr. Grey asked in an eager tone. "What made you suddenly jump from despising him to being this proud of him?"

Something clicked in Dallas's head. "I'm think I'm startin' to understand your point, Emily," he said. "But just because Washington and I were able to discuss and talk out our issues in a civilized manner doesn't mean that talkin' to Epsilon will produce the same result."

"Yes, I know," she said. "And I realize I'm kinda out of the loop when it comes to Project Freelancer stuff. I mean, newspaper articles can only give you so much information, and we all know how reliable mainstream media as a whole can be."

Her cheerful tone faded a bit. "But it's like Washington said, this kind of arguing...it's not going to get us anywhere. So _something_ has to be done, right?"

Dallas could think of several things wrong with Dr. Grey's idea, but also several things that pointed to it being somewhat logical. If he managed to get Epsilon to converse with him, and possibly reach SOME kind of compromise, perhaps the AI would be willing to put aside his grudge for the time being and tensions between the Blues would die down. Or, on a less positive note, such an act would only enrage Epsilon further and create more distance between the team that would be harder than ever to repair.

But at the same time, Dr. Grey and Washington both had a point: Things could not continue as they were. With Epsilon and Tucker constantly at each others' throats and Carolina still too injured to completely hold her own in a fight, it would only be a matter of time until Felix and Locus found them again and stopped them for good. Not just them, but the entire planet. Michaels, Sinclair, Kimball, all the lieutenants, the misguided soldiers of the Federal Army...None of them would survive.

"There's no guarantee that talkin' to Epsilon would work," Dallas said aloud. "In fact, I'm more than positive he'll be furious at me for even attemptin' to talk to him. But...it's worth a shot, right?"

"Dallas, are you sure about this?" Washington asked.

"Absolutely not," Dallas said. "But I'd rather try _somethin'_ and fail than just sit around and let things get worse."

"Would you like me to come with you?" Dr. Grey asked hopefully. "I'd like to get into that little computer mind of his, see what makes him tick..."

Dallas shook his head. "No, I think it'd be best if I go alone. I'm expectin' a Hell that I've had comin' for years and I don't want anyone else caught in the crossfire."

"Alright, well, you know where to find us once you're done~!" Dr. Grey said.

"Yeah," Washington added. "Good luck, Dallas."

After giving them both an appreciative nod, Dallas began to make his way towards the caves that they had journeyed through during their rescue mission. Where they had eavesdropped on Locus and his group of soldiers, soldiers they had once thought to be Feds.

Dallas sighed as he headed further into the cave. That rescue mission seemed so far away now, even though it had been mere hours since they left the New Republic in search of their friends. Time seemed to ebb and flow in an irregular pattern as of late, and while Dallas knew that time was technically a man-made invention and therefore an illusion, said irregularity didn't do much to ease his usually-dissociated state of mind.

And of course the worry about the task at hand only made matters worse. Dallas's mind was swirling with thoughts of what he wanted to say or do once he found Carolina and Epsilon. He really did expect the worst. He expected yelling, anger, hated, to be ignored entirely... Things he'd deserved from either of them.

He expected all of it and would take everything as it came in stride. But he had to do something to stop this senseless arguing between his teammates for the sake of all their lives and for the lives of the armies of Chorus who had done nothing but fight for so long.

He froze mid-step when he spotted that familiar suit of teal armor several yards away from him and, after hesitating for a moment and taking a deep breath, continued on towards Carolina. She spun around almost immediately and had her weapon at the ready in case she needed to attack, but seemed to relax when she realized he was not an enemy soldier.

"Oh, it's you..." she said slowly.

Dallas stopped before her. "I need to talk to Epsilon."

Carolina sighed. "You know that's probably not a good idea, right?"

"Yes, I'm aware," Dallas said. "But this bickerin' between him and Tucker can't go on, Carolina. You know what will happen if this continues the way it does. I swear, I just want to do whatever I can to help stop it."

Carolina nodded. "No, I agree with you. I'm just saying that he probably won't want to talk to you."

"I know, and I'll take all his anger, or all your anger, without a single complaint," Dallas said. "And once I've said what I needed to, I'll turn and walk away from here without another word. I won't come near either of you ever again. But please...I ask that you give me just a few minutes to speak my mind."

Carolina stared at him for a moment, before turning her head towards her shoulder. "Epsilon, get out here."

No response.

"Church..."

"I'm not coming out," Epsilon said. "Not for him."

Dallas sighed. "Epsilon, please...it's important."

"Nothing _you_ have to say is important," Epsilon retorted angrily. "If you're expecting some kind of apology for what I said—"

"It's about Tucker," Dallas said. "And Caboose. And the others."

"Oh, let me guess," Epsilon said bitterly. "Their feelings are hurt because I kept insulting their new best friend?"

"No, they're upset because their actual best friend has done nothing but treat them like dirt since he got back," Dallas said. "When all they did for the weeks and weeks we spent in that canyon was miss him!"

Epsilon let out an indignant huff. "Oh, yeah, they CLEARLY missed me. I can tell by how much they cling to you. Really feeling the love here."

Well, at least Epsilon was actually talking to him. All Dallas had to do was keep him invested enough in the conversation to get his points out. "Is that why you've been so hostile towards them lately?" Dallas asked. "Because of me?"

"Oh, no, don't you DARE try and psychoanalyze me!" Epsilon's holographic form finally appeared less than an inch from Dallas's visor. "You don't get to fucking stand there and try to get me to talk about my feelings after everything you did!"

"I don't want to psychoanalyze you, Epsilon," Dallas said truthfully. "I just want to help..."

"Help?! HELP?!" Epsilon let out a hollow laugh. "Oh, that's fucking rich. Well here's a newsflash for you: I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you. I hate you with every fiber of my being and I wish I never had to deal with you again!"

"You really think I don't know that?!" Dallas asked. "You think I would be here, tryin' to get you to talk to me, if there were any other choices? No, I would be back with the group, keepin' my distance from the two of you because I know how you both feel about me. And you have every right to feel that way! I've made terrible, terrible mistakes, ones that will either take a lifetime to fix or cannot be fixed at all."

Dallas sighed heavily. "But you've been takin' that anger and hatred out on the people who care about you the most. People who don't deserve it, people who have done nothin' but miss you dearly since you left."

"Not enough, apparently, if they've replaced me so easily," Epsilon said. "Especially with someone they KNOW I hate."

"Epsilon, all of us were stuck in a canyon together for WEEKS," Dallas pointed out. "And after the separation from Washington, the Blues and I, along with Grif and Simmons, spent several days together in the New Republic. People get lonely in times like that. Caboose nearly spiraled into a depression from the loss of his best friend. Tucker keeps a lot to himself, but he's been through so much since the ship wreck. Losing you, then losing Washington... He needed to talk to _someone_. Both of them did. Had it been anyone else, they probably would have done the same thing."

He paused, expecting more anger from Epsilon, but the AI remained silent. "I know you don't trust me, and I respect that," he continued. "In fact, I'm not surprised. You, Carolina, Washington... You all have every right to be furious with me for what I've done. In fact, Washington _was_ angry with me for several weeks back in the canyon. He'd yell at me, scold me if I so much as thought of steppin' out of line, and inflict a number of other punishments on me no matter what I did. And had we been in Blood Gulch, I probably would have taken them all without complaint. If we were in Blood Gulch now, I would take _your_ anger without complaint as well."

Dallas sighed. "But we're not in Blood Gulch, Epsilon. We're in the middle of a war. A war that has resulted in the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent soldiers and will only result in more as time passes. And Tucker, Caboose, the Reds...all of them will follow suit if things continue on as they are."

Epsilon let out an exasperated sigh. "So, what the fuck do you want me to do? Stop being angry with you? Because that's not going to happen."

"I know," Dallas said. "I'm not asking you to trust me, and I'm not asking you to stop bein' angry with me. But you've been takin' it out on your teammates, and they don't deserve that."

"They've been getting angry right back!" Epsilon pointed out. "I don't see you giving _them_ a huge lecture for treating me like I'm overreacting whenever I get angry at you!"

"I did have a conversation with Tucker," Dallas assured him. "Believe me, what he said to you didn't make me happy because he doesn't seem to understand just how much I've hurt you and that isn't okay. But the way you've been treatin' him and Caboose since you got back isn't okay either. Tucker was really upset after the mission to Crash Site Alpha because of what you told him."

"Of course he'd tell YOU how he felt," Epsilon muttered.

"He also told Washington," Dallas said. "Who asked me to come with him while he attempted to comfort Tucker. I didn't go out of my way to talk to either of them."

"Yeah, that doesn't make me feel any better," Epsilon said, rotating his hand in a 'speed-it-up' motion. "Can you get to the point?"

"My point is that we need to reach some kind of middle ground until the war is over," Dallas said. "For the planet's sake, and for your team's sake. Because while your hostility is completely valid... there's a time and place for it, and right now, it's only pushin' away the people you care about most. People who missed you, people who care about you, people who are hurt because all you've done is insult them and treat them like they're worth nothin' to you."

Dallas's gaze drifted to Carolina. "And trust me when I say that's the easiest way to lose the most important people in your life."

Epsilon was silent for what seemed like an eternity and for a while, it seemed like he had decided to bring the conversation to an abrupt end. However, before Dallas could turn to leave, Epsilon spoke again: 

"Did they really miss me?"

Dallas looked back at him. "The Blues?"

"No, the Reds. Of course the Blues, dumbass."

Dallas nodded. "Yes, of course they did. They went on and on about you and the adventures all of you have been on over the years. Caboose especially. He adores you more than life itself. And Tucker—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know them, I get the picture," Epsilon said. "I guess I did kind of leave them all alone without a goodbye. That was...pretty dickish."

He exhaled loudly. "And I guess when garbage is your only choice for companionship, you take what you can get. And they were stuck with the biggest pile of garbage for a long time."

Dallas resisted the urge to chuckle at this statement. "You're not wrong there."

Epsilon shifted a bit, appearing uneasy. "God damn it...I hate that you're right about this. I don't want you to be, but you are. Yelling at them's not going to make things any easier and they probably hate my guts now..."

"Well, you're an asshole, but I don't know if I would say I _hate_ you."

Dallas and Epsilon turned to see Tucker several feet from where they stood, his body half-hidden by a stalagmite that nearly reached the top of the cave.

"Tucker?" Dallas and Epsilon said in unison.

Tucker gave them an awkward wave, keeping silent as he approached them. Dallas noticed that Tucker's gaze seemed to be locked on Epsilon, and Epsilon's on Tucker in return. Both of them appeared uncomfortable and awkward, likely from how their previous conversation had ended, and for several minutes they remained silent as if they were waiting for the other to say the first word.

Tucker was the first to speak. "So..."

"Yeah?" Epsilon asked.

Tucker shifted a bit, sighing heavily. "Listen, uh... I was a dick," he said slowly. "You've got every right to hate Dallas for what he did, and I just...well... I was way out of line."

"Does he really mean that much to you and Caboose?" Epsilon asked. "Honestly?"

Tucker looked over at Dallas for a moment. "Yeah, he does. But like...we weren't trying to replace you with him, Church. Honestly."

Epsilon sighed heavily. "Alright, look. I can't promise to like him. I can't promise to be happy that he's here, either, because I'm not."

"Hey, dude, you don't have to like him," Tucker said. "I get why you don't."

"But I guess...I can hold off on tearing him a new one until this is all over," Epsilon said. "But as soon as we're back in Blood Gulch, I don't plan on holding back."

"Now that I can understand," Tucker said. "What about you, Dallas?"

"Oh, I'm more than aware of his plans for me after this war has ended," Dallas said. "And I will take everything as it comes without complaint. So long as Epsilon directs it towards me and not you or Caboose."

"Hey, I'll do a backflip off the fucking sun if it means I get to drag your ass on a regular basis without any repercussions," Epsilon said.

"So, uh, are we cool?" Tucker asked.

"Yeah, I think we are," Epsilon said. "As long as you can explain to me one thing, Tucker."

"What's that?"

"Who are you and what the fuck did you do with my teammate?" Epsilon asked playfully. "I mean, our last conversation had at least two innuendos you could have made a joke about and you didn't say a word?"

Tucker laughed. "Hey, come on, I was pissed off! Cut me some slack, dude!"

"I don't know," Epsilon said. "I think you're losing your touch."

"Your mom seemed to like my touch last night!" Tucker said proudly. "Bow chicka bow wow!"

"Oh, come on, I practically set that up for you!" Epsilon protested.

Dallas couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the two of them interact, a wave of relief washing over him at the realization that they were going to be okay. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Carolina watching them as well, and the sound of multiple footsteps behind them told him they weren't alone.

"So, did you all come to some sort of agreement?" Washington asked hopefully.

"For now, yes," Dallas said.

"I can't promise things will be perfect," Epsilon said. "But...I'll try a little less yelling. For now."

"Thank GOD," Grif said. "All that fighting was getting annoying. It was like being back in Blood Gulch."

Sarge sniffed. "Those were the good ol' days!"

"So, can we get back to the civil war now, please?" Simmons asked frantically.

Before anyone could respond to Simmons, a sharp, crackling sound burst from their radios, causing several of the Reds and Blues to cry out in surprise and confusion. "What the hell is that?!" Tucker asked.

"Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen, and former directors!"

Dallas felt a chill run up his spine at the sound of Felix's voice in his headset, and he could tell the others felt just as uncomfortable hearing the mercenary speak so cheerfully to them after their last encounter with him.

"He's using the radios to communicate," Epsilon said. "But stay on your guard."

"You can just fuck right off, asshole!" Tucker said to Felix. "We're not interested in anything you're selling."

Felix let out a little chuckle. "Oh, I wouldn't be so quick to turn down my offer that quickly, Tucker. For you see, I'm offering something that no one in their right mind could possibly refuse!"

"What is it, the ability to shut you up?" Dallas asked.

"Oh, that's clever, 'Dallas,'" Felix said. "Oh, and since you can't see my hands, I thought you should know I put air-quotes around your name. Because we both know it's about as real as your sense of humor. But no, I'm offering something much, much better than that! In a miraculous, one time only deal, you've all been upgraded to first class on a one way flight off of Chorus!"


	31. Part 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
>  
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, good news and bad news. The bad news is I expected the fic to be at least three chapters longer, but it looks like the next chapter will be the final one. That's right, we're quickly approaching the end, folks. However, the good news is I will discuss the future of TDOPFLID at the very end of the fic, and what I plan on doing after it's completion. But I want to say it's been a great ride during the course of writing this and I'm so, so happy that people have been so supportive and kind throughout the process and I couldn't have come this far without any of you <3
> 
> And in regards to this chapter, I can safely say that Felix is an absolute delight to write. I love that motherfucker to death. Also that 'canon-typical violence' tag really comes into play in this chapter, especially near the end. Meaning blood and stuff. Just a heads up.

"What the hell are you talkin' about, Felix?" Dallas asked.

"Yeah, and how stupid do you think we are?" Tucker added.

Felix let out a laugh over the radio. "Okay, so do you want an honest answer to that question? Because I mean...I could go all day."

"Just answer the question," Carolina said sternly. "The _first_ question."

"Woah, hey, no need to get huffy there, darling," Felix said in an amused tone. "Listen, I know you're all excited to hear what I have to say, but I think I'll let my partner explain the details."

"It's time you all understood the severity of your situation," Locus said. "You might have been able to disable our tracking device, but that doesn't matter now. We are already aware of your location, we are aware that Dallas possesses six teleportation grenades-" All heads turned towards Dallas instinctively. "-and we are aware that one Dr. Emily Grey has now joined your party."

"Hello, Locus," Dr. Grey said, her usually-cheerful voice even more sickeningly sweet than ever. "And here I thought you forgot about me. I mean, I know you were preoccupied with killing all my friends, but surely you could have made time for little ol' Emily Grey, couldn't you?"

"We also know that you hold the coordinates to a particularly valuable radio jammer," Locus continued, ignoring Dr. Grey's comment. "Which is why my partner and I are contacting you from its location."

"Yeah, so what's your point?" Tucker asked him.

An annoyed sigh could be heard over the radio. "My point is, you will not be interfering with the events we have planned for today," Locus said.

"You see, we're having a little get-together at the capital," Felix chimed in. "And by we, I mean the two armies. Actually, the New Republic's on their way to the capital as we speak."

Felix let out a chuckle. "Oh, but bad news for them: this little get-together's not going to be some happy picnic."

"You're gettin' the two armies together?" Dallas asked. "That means..."

"That's right, Dallas!" Felix said joyfully. "Not a single soldier's gonna walk out of that capital alive. I mean, except for our guys of course, but...well, I figured that was obvious."

"If your goal was to save these people, then you have failed," Locus said. "However, we are giving you the opportunity to save yourselves."

"What do you mean?" Washington asked.

"Excellent question, Wash," Felix said. "See, once the chumps at the capital are all dead, you guys will be the only loose ends left to tie up. And since you possess the ability to teleport anywhere in the world, this poses an...irritating problem."

"Which is why Control has offered to make you all a deal," Locus said.

"A deal?" Washington repeated curiously. "What kind of deal?"

"If you choose to teleport back to your canyon at Crash Site Bravo within one hour, and surrender the remainder of your teleportation grenades, you'll find a ship waiting to take you all home," Locus explained. "However, should you fail to arrive at the canyon within the hour, well... we happen to know this planet far better than any of you and there is nowhere you can go where we can't find you. And when we find you, we _will_ kill you."

"I don't buy this," Grif said. "Not for a second."

"Yeah, why should we believe anything you say?" Simmons asked.

"See for yourselves," Locus said.

The sound of a ship rumbling echoed throughout the caves and Dallas was the first to hurry back in the direction of the fueling station, stepping out into the wide shadow of a ship that was flying past the fueling station.

"Bueno, Yo les creo [Okay, I believe them]," Lopez said.

"You're right, Lopez!" Donut said cheerfully. "That IS the ship that dropped us off before!"

"Deja de fingir que me entiende, idiota! [Stop pretending you understand me, idiot!]" Lopez said angrily.

"It's fully functional and on its way back to the canyon as we speak," Locus said over the radio. "Where it will remain for the hour. And it will leave once the hour is up, whether or not you choose to accept our offer."

"And how do we know you won't just shoot us the moment we arrive in the canyon?" Washington asked. "All you've proven is that you have a ship available."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to trust us, won't you?" Felix said.

"Then I guess _you're_ shit out of luck," Tucker said. "Because that's not happening."

"Hey, don't get mad at us," Felix said. "This plan wasn't our idea."

"Our client happens to be a person of business," Locus said. "They understand if you want no part in this conflict and they're willing to let you all live as long as you agree to never speak of our involvement here."

"And I suppose their feelings towards me have also faded, as well?" Dallas asked. "I mean, just a few hours ago, they seemed to desire my head on a pike. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"It's like we said, Dallas," Felix said. "They're a person of business. They know some sacrifices must be made for the sake of completing a mission. And they know for a fact that a former war criminal who, as far as the media knows, died weeks ago won't just go running to the authorities to inform them of some naughty, murderous folks on a planet they no longer care about."

Felix let out a laugh. "But hey, if you do decide to go to the authorities, well...Control will know. And they'll make sure all of you pay for it dearly."

"And as for you, Agent Washington," Locus said. "I have been ordered to offer you and your men a way out of this. And while I do not agree with what our client is offering, I never go back on an order."

"Oh, and one more thing," Felix said "I'm sure some of you have already started coming up with some stupid plan to just teleport to the capital and warn both armies before it's too late. Well, should you choose to go and pull some boneheaded stunt like that, then our men will kill both you and anyone you might have chosen to run to in the hopes of warning them. Like, say Dallas chooses to teleport back to that little, loudmouthed brat or her crybaby buddy—"

Dallas felt his blood boil at Felix's insinuation. "Don't you touch them," he said angrily. "Don't you lay a single finger on either of them!"

Felix laughed. "Don't worry your pretty little head, Dallas. I won't be the one killing them. Nah, that'll probably be one of idiots in the Federal Army. Maybe even one of Washington's pals. Man, I wish I could be there to see it myself."

"You have one hour to make your decision," Locus said, returning to the main topic.

"Hope you make the right one, boys," Felix said. "Or the wrong one. Seriously, I hope I get to put a bullet in each of your skulls, one-by-one. Just line you all up and BOOM! Right between the eyes!"

" _Felix,_ " Locus said in a warning tone.

"Right, right," Felix said, sounding annoyed.

There was a click and the radio fell silent. Dallas watched the others shift uncomfortably as they processed the mercenary's offer, and Simmons even began to pace back and forth in an anxious fashion.

"So...what do we do?" Tucker asked, breaking the silence.

"This has to be some kind of trap, right?" Simmons asked. "I mean....please tell me I'm not alone in thinking this!"

"You're not, Simmons," Dallas assured him. "I don't trust this at all."

"Hey, Dallas?" Tucker asked. "Where did you get six future cubes?"

"There was a pile near the prisoner," Dallas explained. "Washington told me to grab them before we teleported. I figured someone had emptied his storage compartments durin' the interrogation."

"We only found two on his person," Washington said. "The rest probably belonged to whoever worked in the lab before it was abandoned."

"Okay, so how did the mercs know how many Dallas had?" Tucker asked.

Dallas shrugged. "They had already cornered us by the time I had began to stock up on them. Perhaps one of them managed to count the number of cubes I grabbed before we teleported."

"There were snipers in the area," Grif added. "They could have been watching us through their sniper rifles and counted the number of cubes taken."

"Uh, why would they be doing that and not be killing us instead, genius?" Simmons asked.

"How the fuck should I know?" Grif asked defensively. "It was just a suggestion."

"Regardless of how they found out," Washington said. "We have a bigger issue at hand."

"Yeah, understatement of the century," Epsilon spoke up. "We've got two armies about to kill each other, and if we try to interfere in any sense, it'll only get them killed faster."

"There has to be SOME way we can teleport to them without the mercs knowing," Tucker said, looking to Washington. "I mean, the guy back at the lab said that they value quantity over quality. There can't be THAT many hidden mercenaries in each army, right? Maybe we could find a spot that's merc-free and—"

"From our location, it'd be impossible to know exactly where their blindspots are located, especially if one of the armies is on the move," Washington pointed out. "No matter where we'd teleport to, we'd likely be spotted almost immediately. Let's face it, none of us exactly blend in with the rest of the soldiers on Chorus. Except for Dr. Grey, but they already know she's here with us."

"Not to mention, it's exactly what they'd be expectin' of us," Dallas said. "I mean, think about it. Felix stuck to us like glue while we were in the New Republic, and I'm willin' to bet Locus did the same in the Federal Army."

"You'd win that bet," Washington said.

"They know who we interacted with in both armies," Dallas continued. "They know our allies, which means they would know how to hit us where it hurt if we just teleported to either side without a plan."

"That comments Felix made about Sinclair and Michaels pissed you off, huh?" Tucker asked.

"Immensely," Dallas said. "And I'm not about to endanger their lives, or anyone else's lives, by pullin' a stunt that would likely get them killed before we can relay information to them."

"But if we don't do SOMETHING, they're going to die anyway," Tucker pointed out.

Epsilon sighed heavily. "Alright, look, I have a few possible options on the matter, and all of them range from fucking terrible to goddamned nightmare."

"Oh, that's encouraging," Grif muttered.

"Option one: we make the choice to teleport somewhere where we can lay low for a while," Epsilon said. "Felix and Locus claim they'll be able to find us, but if we use our remaining teleportation cubes sparingly and if Carolina, Wash and I take care of the fighting when it's necessary, we'll be able to hop from place to place long enough to gather intel and the equipment needed to get us off Chorus. Once we're finally off planet, we haul ass to the UNSC and bring Control to justice."

"That's a fucking terrible plan, dude," Tucker said.

"Yeah, I know," Epsilon said. "That was the 'fucking terrible' one out of the three."

"What are your other options?" Dallas asked.

"Option two," Epsilon continued. " _If,_ and I cannot stretch that if enough, _if_ Felix and Locus are telling the truth about having a ship waiting for us, we get on it and go home. We tell no one about what's happening here and if anyone asks, we tell them we stole the ship and left the planet before everyone started killing each other."

"So we leave the two armies to kill each other and for Control to take the planet?" Dallas asked.

"Pretty much," Epsilon said. "Or we go with option three: we teleport to the radio jammer, take out their defenses, shut down the machine, and get a message to the two armies before it's too late."

"Well that doesn't sound too bad," Tucker said.

"Weelll, here's the thing," Epsilon said. "I've been running Carolina's healing unit whenever I can but her leg is still pretty busted. Combine that with the fact that these guys have freelancer equipment advance weaponry—"

"A lot of us wouldn't make it back alive," Dallas finished grimly.

"More like _most_ of us won't make it back alive," Epsilon said. "I'd say at least two of the people here would survive, and even that's pushing it."

"Well, I mean, how is that different from anything else we've been through?" Tucker asked.

"Yeah, honestly," Simmons added. "We've survived worse than a bunch of mercenaries in the past. I mean, remember the Meta?"

"Yeah, but I don't think we'll be able to tie the mercs to a car and toss them off a cliff," Grif said. "As cool as that would be."

"We'd be able to save everyone at the capital if we went with that plan," Tucker pointed out.

"Yeah, again, if we survive," Epsilon said. "Then we just need to find a way to convince two armies that a bunch of dead people are actually alive and telling the truth."

"In all honesty, that seems like it'll be the easier part," Dallas said. "I'm sure Locus and Felix have told the generals some story about how we died in some attack from the opposin' army, in an attempt to further fuel their desire to kill each other. I know for a fact Felix wouldn't pass up a chance to push more war propaganda on the young, impressionable lieutenants of the New Republic, and I'm VERY certain Control wouldn't be against the idea, either. So I think if we succeed in puttin' a stop to the mercenaries' plans and get to the capital in time, it wouldn't be so difficult to convince the generals that their armies are bein' manipulated."

"You would know all about manipulating young, impressionable soldiers, wouldn't you?" Epsilon said. "Only partial offense. I would say no offense, but... _well_..."

"No, no, you're not wrong," Dallas assured. "While I am ashamed of the things I've done in the past, I won't pretend that they didn't happen. And I will admit without hesitation that I do have some idea of what goes through the mind of a corrupted leader."

"There is another option," Washington said thoughtfully. "Carolina and I could always go on the run with Epsilon and do our best to bring down control by ourselves, while the rest of you take the ship and go home."

"We _would_ be able to move about the planet more freely without the extra baggage," Carolina said. "No offense."

"Hey, none taken," Grif said. "We're comfortable with who we are."

"Absolutely not," Dallas said. "There's no way we'd leave you two alone here in the middle of a war while we just up and leave."

"Hey, you should know better than anyone that we're some of the best soldiers out there," Washington pointed out. "Who better to put a stop to some of the best mercenaries out there than the best soldiers?"

Dallas shook his head. "I refuse to leave without you. The mercs are dangerous, and with Carolina's injury still givin' her trouble..."

"I'd be fine," Carolina assured him. "If we're careful and keep to the shadows, we'll be able to keep the fighting to a minimum while we gather intel."

"And of course, I'd be running her armor enhancements," Epsilon pointed out. "And keeping her from overexerting herself."

"That doesn't matter!" Dallas said frantically. "Even if you manage to gather enough information on the mercenaries, there's still too many variables to consider when it comes to getting all of you off the planet alive! And I'm not about to leave the entire planet behind to die, either!"

Dallas noticed that Carolina was staring at him with that same look she had given him several times since they had been reunited; a look that not even her helmet visor could mask. And much like every other time, Dallas found it difficult to interpret her feelings. Was she angry at his stubbornness to comply with the idea of leaving the three of them behind? Confused by the fact he was so against letting them throw themselves into a dangerous situation alone? Worried that his past behavior in regards to leading a group was beginning to rear its ugly head once again in the form of disagreeing with their plan?

"I kind of agree with Dallas," Tucker said. "I mean, I'd like to get off this planet as much as the next guy, but it'd be kind of a dick move to just leave everyone else here to die, right?"

"My squad _was_ a nice group of soldiers," Simmons admitted. "Even if I never really spoke to any of them."

"More like you couldn't," Grif said.

"Fuck off," Simmons retorted.

"And I liked Smith a whole bunch," Caboose said fondly. "He says very nice things about me and is always ready to have cookies with me. Ooh, I should bring him some of the jerky from the gas station! He would like that."

"You do realize that most of you will probably die if you stay here, right?" Epsilon said. "I'm pretty sure I mentioned that."

"It's like we said before," Tucker said. "When _haven't_ we been on the edge of death and come out alive? I'd say the odds are pretty much the same as they usually are."

"And who says the Freelancers get to have all the fun?" Sarge asked, cocking his shotgun. "I've barely had a chance to shoot anything since we've landed on this rock and I find that to be a personal offense, punishable by a bullet in the mouth of a murderous mercenary!"

"Nice alliteration, Sarge," Simmons said.

"Yeah, I'd like to unleash a load or two into their faces, too!" Donut said proudly. "Really give them a good pounding!"

Carolina looked around at the group, silent for a few minutes. "Well, we can't just go rushing into a fight unprepared," she finally said aloud. "We still need a plan."

"Hey, you know," Tucker said. "I might have something in mind..."

\--------------------------

_Wait five minutes..._

That was what Carolina and Washington had instructed before they teleported to the radio jammer: Wait five minutes for them to get into position before making a move to get the extra mercenaries away from Locus and Felix.

It had taken about three minutes for Carolina to count and relay the number of mercenaries in the area ("There only seems to be about four. The rest must be stationed at the capital."), which left Dallas two, agonizing minutes of silence alone with his thoughts of worry about the Freelancers' well-being while he waited with Tucker and Caboose. They would both be closest to Felix and Locus, and one slip up could mean the difference between life and death.

"Dallas? You doing alright, man?"

Dallas looked at Tucker, who was staring at him. "Alright may not be the best word."

"Worried?" Tucker asked.

"Terrified."

Tucker gave him a playful nudge. "Come on, if we can survive worse than this, I'm sure you can too."

"I appreciate the attempt to calm my nerves," Dallas said. "But it's not my own well-bein' I'm worried about."

"Wash and Carolina?" Tucker guessed.

"Carolina's leg was still actin' up," Dallas pointed out. "I realize we all agreed that we were willin' to fight to the death if we needed to, but that doesn't mean I want it to come to that, especially not with her or Washington."

"Hey, in about two minutes, they'll have us to back them up." Tucker flexed his arms as best he could in his armor. "And ladies love a man who can protect them. Pretty soon she might be calling me her 'knight-in-shining-armor.'"

Caboose began to wave his gun wildly. "Ooh, if Tucker is a knight, I would like to be the dragon!"

"Tucker, I don't think this is the time for that," Dallas said. "And if it was, I would point out that Carolina isn't exactly the damsel type and she probably wouldn't take too kindly to you referrin' to her in such a way."

"Psh, aw, come on," Tucker said. "You think she wouldn't be into me?"

Dallas looked at him. "Honestly, you remind me a lot of someone she used to be romantically involved with," he said truthfully. "And she actually might be interested in you if you learned how to be a little more respectful towards women. But perhaps we can worry about romance and the sort after we finish dealin' with the current, life-threatenin' task at hand."

"Good point," Tucker said. "Our five minutes are up, anyway."

Dallas nodded. "Alright, Caboose, it's time for Freckles to do that trick Emily taught him. You think he's ready?"

"He is very much ready!" Caboose said eagerly, aiming his gun at the nearest wall. "Freckles! Fire!"

"FIRING MAIN CANNON."

The gun in Caboose's hand fired a single bullet against the rocky surface, and the resulting gunshot echoed throughout the surrounding area. "That should get their attention," Dallas said. "Caboose, set Freckles in place and let's hide."

"You stay here and wait, Freckles," Caboose said, setting the gun down on a nearby barrel. "And when you see one of the mercenaries, you do what Tucker said to do!"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

"This way," Dallas said, with a gesture for Caboose to follow.

Caboose hurried after Dallas while Tucker headed off in the opposite direction to hide. Dallas held his breath, remaining deathly quiet as the three of them waited for the inevitable sound of approaching footsteps.

They only had to take out four mercenaries, minus Locus and Felix; two for the Reds, and two for the Blues. While Dallas was relieved that the numbers were so few on their end, the realization that the rest of the soldiers were stationed in the capital with two armies about to kill each other began to take hold of him.

If they failed to succeed here, the armies would either kill each other or be killed by the remaining mercenaries. General Kimball, Emily's friends in the Federal Army, Michaels, Sinclair...

Dallas shook his head and did everything he could to push away those negative thoughts, along with his returning worries about the Freelancers. Weeks ago, maybe even HOURS ago, he would be having these worries. He would be having doubts about the group's ability to survive such a difficult task. He would be thinking to himself that this plan would likely get them all killed.

But there was something different about the Reds and Blues of Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha. They had gotten this far with plans that seemed so outlandish and ridiculous upon first glance. Plans that, from an intelligent perspective, would result in the deaths of everyone involved before things could even be put into action.

But they were all still alive. 

They had overcome even the most impossible tasks, and defeated any opponent thrown at them. They had survived events that had brought many Freelancers to their untimely and tragic deaths. They were strong and brave and unconventionally intelligent, despite their usually-selfish natures and the constant barrage of insults they tossed at one another on a regular basis.

Even if the odds were against them, they'd come out victorious. They'd come out _alive_.

And Dallas had no doubts that if anyone could survive what they were currently up against, it would definitely be the Reds and Blues. And maybe, by association, Washington and Carolina would had that luck on their side as well.

"Did that gun just fucking talk?!"

"FIRING MAIN CANNON."

The sound of a mercenary's voice followed by the sound of Freckles' gunshots snapped Dallas back to attention. He jumped out from their hiding spot just as another mercenary entered the cave.

"Man down!" she was saying over her radio. "Man d-ACK!"

The mercenary was silenced by a blow to the back of her head via Tucker's sword hilt. "Ha! Take that, bitch!" he said proudly.

"Good job, Tucker." Dallas turned his attention to his radio. "Sarge, we've taken out the two mercenaries on our end."

"Roger that," Sarge said in response.

Dallas looked back at Tucker. "You sure you don't want someone to accompany you durin' your fight?"

Tucker laughed, and made his energy sword appear. "Knife versus Badass-Alien-Sword. I think I got this covered."

Dallas nodded. "You still have our second teleportation grenade, right?"

"Right here," Tucker said, patting the storage compartment on the left side of his armor. "Sure you don't want it?"

"Your task is more dangerous than either of ours," Dallas said, with a gesture to himself and Caboose. "If things begin to go south, you'll need a quick escape."

"Alright, idiots, come on out! I promise to make your deaths quick and moderately painless if you give up right now!"

The distant sound of Felix's voice approaching their location caught their attention, and Tucker gave his team one last look. "Guess that's my cue," he said. "Good luck, guys."

"You as well," Dallas said in return, watching as Tucker hurried off before he turned to Caboose. "Go pick up Freckles and lets get into position."

Caboose gave him a happy nod and hurried to go fetch his gun. "Come on, Freckles! We are going to help Dallas!"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

Dallas's heart was pounding wildly again as they headed in the opposite direction, while the sounds of fighting in the nearby canyon grew louder. Despite the fact that he knew Tucker and the Freelancers would be keeping the mercenaries distracted, and the Red Team would be taking out the additional mercenaries that hadn't been sent to the capital, Dallas couldn't help but keep a close eye out for any unusual shimmers that could really be a cloaked soldier waiting to strike.

But luckily, it seemed like the Reds had accomplished their part of the mission, and they hurried on towards the assigned meetup point without an issue. Dallas felt a surge of relief overtake him when he finally spotted the five suits of red armor (and one white-and-purple suit) waiting for them.

"I take it there was no trouble on your end?" he asked as he and Caboose came to a stop in front of the group.

"Both mercs have been taken out," Simmons said.

"Taken out?" Sarge repeated with a laugh. "These high-and-mighty mercenaries didn't count on meeting the best darn team, and also Grif, to ever come outta Blood Gulch."

"Fuck you, it was my weight that brought the first guy down," Grif said.

"Yes, but none of them knew what a jugular was until I pointed it out," Dr. Grey said to Dallas.

"How are the Freelancers doin' against Locus?" Dallas asked.

"Wash is still fighting, but we haven't seen Carolina since we got here," Dr. Grey said. "She's probably waiting at the radio jammer already."

Dallas nodded. "And Wash? How's he holdin' up?"

"Well, he's alive," Grif said. "Take that as you will."

"I'll take it as a good thing," Dallas said. "Tucker is already in position. If he can keep Felix talking long enough, we'll get a chance to take him out before we join up with Carolina."

Simmons flicked a thumb towards a rock formation that was elevated several feet above the ground in the open canyon. "The area's level there. We'll be able to take our shot there."

"Good, let's hurry," Dallas said, with a gesture for them to follow him.

The group hurried out from their hiding spot to the top of the formation. To their right, Dallas caught several glimpses of both Washington and Locus darting between the rock structures that protruded the surrounding area as they fought. Dallas was especially glad to see that Washington's movements weren't abnormal and he didn't seem to be in any pain. He was holding his own against Locus very well, and while the sight wasn't surprising to Dallas in the slightest, it didn't stop him from being very impressed with Washington's abilities. He truly was the best of the best.

He turned his attention to the left of the canyon, where Tucker and Felix continued to fight. Tucker also seemed to be holding his own against Felix very well and Dallas felt great satisfaction at the sight of him nearly slicing Felix in half with his energy sword. But of course, Felix was about as slippery as his personality, and dodged the attack with ease. 

He had his back to the Reds and Dallas, likely too distracted by Tucker (Dallas could see Felix's hand gestures going a mile a minute and could almost hear the monologuing to go with them in his head) to notice anything or anyone behind him. Dallas gave Tucker a motion to keep Felix talking as they raised their guns, ready to shoot.

And then Felix whipped around to face them, a sticky detonator in his hand.

"Oh, shit!" Grif said in surprise. 

"He's onto us!" Simmons said frantically.

"Everyone get back!" Dallas ordered.

His warning came too late, for Felix had wasted no time in launching the detonator at the ground beneath their feet. Dallas jumped to the side off the edge of the rock formation as the detonator went off, the force of the explosion knocking back the Reds and Caboose and causing Dallas to hit the canyon ground harder than expected.

A jolt of pain shot through the foot he landed on, and he bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. That foot was definitely either sprained or broken, but he had bigger things to worry about. He was now situated in the open canyon area with both mercenaries and Tucker was racing towards Felix out of anger for—

Panic overtook Dallas as he watched Felix spin around expertly and plunge his knife, the knife he had used to stab Carolina's leg just a few hours ago, into Tucker's gut with a cruel laugh.

"Tucker!"

Dallas couldn't hold back a cry of concern as he watched Tucker fall to his knees after Felix retracted his knife, now coated in a red sheen from Tucker's blood. Felix spun back around to face him at the sound of his outburst.

"Well, look who's joined the fun!" Felix said in a sarcastically joyful tone. "Good ol' Dallas!"

Forgetting his ankle, Dallas aimed his gun at Felix, his hands trembling out of anger. "I'll kill you."

"Oooh, I'm shaking~!" Felix said, waving his hands as if he were actually scared of Dallas's threat. "But no, seriously, I've seen your aim, old man. I wouldn't risk it, especially not with your buddy bleeding out over here. Might make him die faster if your bullet goes off course."

Felix paused. "Actually, you know what, go ahead. It'd make my job easier, that's for sure."

"I'll still kill you," Dallas said, wincing at the sharp pain in his foot as he moved closer. "One bullet for everyone you've hurt on this planet."

"Oh, cry me a fucking river," Felix said, pulling out his gun. "Again, it's like, Pot. Kettle. You're black."

Dallas looked towards Tucker. "Tucker, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Tucker assured him with a painful groan. "Just had a knife in my gut, but I mean...it happens."

"Aww, you're worried about him," Felix cooed in a sickeningly-sweet voice. "How sweet. Didn't think you had the ability to actually care about anyone. I mean, just how many people did you hurt during Project Freelancer, Director? If we go by the number of states, that's at least fifty minimum, right? Or was it forty-nine? Tell me, did you start using innocent soldiers for your own twisted purposes before or after Florida sank into the sea?"

"That's enough, Felix," Dallas said, focusing his attention back on Felix.

"Really? Because I'm just getting started!" Felix said. "I mean, do you know how hard it was to keep myself from asking you 'Hey, what do you think is the best way to turn people against each other and make them fight to the death?' back in the New Republic? It was just SO difficult keeping my mouth shut around someone who's an absolute master in ruining lives. Honestly, if you're willing to give me some pointers, I might actually keep you alive for a few extra minutes."

"I realize I've hurt a lot of people," Dallas said, keeping his gun raised. "But at least I've spent the time since feelin' the weight of the things I did."

"Oh, God, here we go," Felix said in an exasperated tone. "The whole 'I'm better than you because I CARE and I'm HELPING PEOPLE now' spheal. Give me a fucking break."

"Oh, I won't pretend I'm a good person simply because I'm tryin' to better myself now," Dallas said. "I wouldn't even say I'm better than you. Many of my own actions in the past could give yours a run for their money, and the only reason I'm still alive is because someone I hurt found it in their hearts to spare my life when I likely didn't deserve that second chance. I don't know why and I don't think I have the right to know why, but I'm alive. I'm alive and I've felt nothin' but rightfully guilty for my actions ever since that day."

Dallas shook his head. "But you know what? At least I _feel_ that guilt. At least I feel horrible for the times I did nothin' but care about only my needs and desires. You don't seem to feel any sort of remorse at all for the things you've done. All you seem to care about at the end of the day is how much money you'll be makin' after this is all over."

"You're damn right I do," Felix said. "But it's not only about the money. I mean, like I said before, Locus and I figured a group of idiots with some washed-up war criminal would do a great job in racking up the body count for a few weeks before we killed you."

Felix let out a laugh. "Oh, but then you all went and did something _better_. You gave these people HOPE. And with that came a new level of motivation." 

He gestured towards Tucker, who was clutching his wound with one hand. "And as I was telling Tucker, that motivation only increased their desire to throw themselves into a losing battle. I mean, you should have seen Sinclair's reaction when I told the lieutenants you had all been killed by the Feds. So determined to better herself through training and knock some Feds' heads in, all for the sake of avenging her 'beloved leader'. The irony in that, that's just...wow, that's funny."

Felix laughed again. "Oh, and then there was Michaels, training right alongside her while bawling his eyes out over your death. I wonder, how fast do you think that little crybaby's going to get himself killed at the capital? My money's on two minutes—"

"I'd stop talkin' if I were you, Felix," Dallas warned, his grip on the gun tightening.

"For the love of GOD, please stop talking," Tucker said. "Bleeding out of my gut hurts a lot less than listening to you go on and on for a fucking eternity."

"Yeah, yeah, it's nearly time to get this over with anyway," Felix said. "But I do want to know at least one more thing, Dallas. How much does it hurt knowing you're leading even more soldiers to their deaths? How much does it hurt you, knowing that all your attempts to try and fix the messes you created were in vain and people are still dying because of you? I mean, you said it yourself that you feel the weight of what you did. So how much weight is added now?"

He looked from Tucker to Dallas. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. Because much like those delusional idiots at the capital, you'll all be dead within a matter of minutes. All your hope, all your motivation, all your desperate attempts to make up for what you did...none of it will matter! Because at the end of the day, if I'm stronger than you and if I'm faster than you, then I can kill you! And not only can I kill you, but I can watch you die, knowing that everything you tried so hard to accomplish will have been for nothing!"

Felix's voice grew low. "And I don't know about you, 'Dallas', but I think that kind of power is better than anything money can buy."

Dallas stared at him for a moment. "You know what I think?" he asked. "I think you're a real dick and you talk too much for your own good. What do you think, Tucker?"

"MAJOR douchebag," Tucker added with a weak laugh. "You got anything to add, Church?"

Epsilon's hologram appeared beside Tucker's shoulder. "Actually, I think you two got it covered. Guy's a real prick."

"What the hell is that?!" Felix asked, his cocky demeanor momentarily dropped as he stared at the hologram.

"Oh, this?" Tucker asked. "This is Church. He's the AI that helps me run my equipment."

"What equipment?"

"My helmet cam," Tucker said smugly.

"Hel...met..." Felix said slowly.

"Smile, asshole! You're on Candid Camera!" Tucker said, tapping the side of his helmet.

"Or, at least, he will be in just a second," Epsilon said. "Be right back."

Epsilon flickered out of sight with a cackle as Felix watched on in shock. Despite the ache in his foot growing harder to ignore and the worry over Tucker's injury, Dallas couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sensation of joy at seeing Felix so dumbfounded at the events unfolding before him. 

Epsilon was sending the message to the capital. The armies would cease their fighting. Michaels, Sinclair, Kimball... they would be okay.

They had succeeded.

And Dallas was so proud of everyone involved. The Reds, the Blues, Washington, Carolina, Emily...

Himself.

The last time he had been proud of his own actions had been when said actions were worthy of only scorn. But what had happened now, what they had accomplished, that was more than worth the pride he felt surging through his body. And while Dallas hadn't done as much as Tucker or the Freelancers, he had still been a part of what had unfolded.

He had been alive to see this. To _accomplish_ this.

And he was so proud.

"You know, Felix," he said aloud, unable to resist the urge to taunt the mercenary. "You asked me for some pointers on how to ruin someone's life. Well, if you really want my opinion, I'd say the secret to success is to really study your opponent and make sure you know their behavior inside and out. For example, if your opponent is a loudmouthed mercenary bent on planetary genocide, the best method would be to get him to go off on some wild and foolish rant where he openly admits to just about every single crime he's guilty of committin'. It's only been attempted once, but so far the results have been perfect—"

His words were cut off by the sound of Felix's gun, still smoking from the bullet it had fired into his right shoulder. Time seemed to move in slow motion as Dallas fell to the ground, a pool of red beginning to form beneath him.

He could barely hear Tucker and someone else in the distance yelling his name in a panic, and he could see another figure (was that Locus?) joining Felix, who had summoned his energy shield to protect them from gunfire that was coming from somewhere outside of Dallas's line of quickly-fading vision.

The last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness were the mercenaries teleporting out of the sight and an unidentifiable form approaching his now-limp body.


	32. Part 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, bad news. I lied about the number of chapters again. The good news? There was so much in this chapter that I’m splitting it into two. That’s right. Two final chapters in one. Hope you all enjoy it because it's been fun.

"Play it again, FILSS."

"Beginning playback."

Dr. Church kept his eyes locked on the screen as the video began to play again and the familiar sound of Allison's voice filled the room. There she was, smiling that beautiful, perfect smile of hers as his name fell from her lips with amused exasperation with the insistence that he was going to make her late.

He ignored the pains in his empty stomach, desperate, hungry pains that had been bothering him for several days, while he studied the video that began to play out for what seemed like the millionth time. He could see his own hand come into the frame as he attempted to pull her back.

God, how he wished he had tried harder to make her stay.

He had been so close with his most recent attempt to bring her back. She had been so close to being perfect, to being _Allison_. So close, but close wasn't good enough. He was still missing something, something that was needed to bring her back properly.

His head was beginning to hurt from the lack of food or water in his system, but he ignored it as he continued to watch her. The state of his own well-being was not important anymore.

All that mattered was her.

He heard the door to the room open behind him, but he didn't bother to tear his attention away from the screen.

"Hello, Director."

So she had survived that fall after all. He should have been happy. "Hello, Agent Carolina. Would you like to watch a video with me?"

"No."

He heard her footsteps getting closer as the video fell silent, having reached its end yet again. "Play it again, FILSS."

"Director, don't you think you should take a break?" FILSS asked. "You haven't eaten in—"

" _Again,_ FILSS!" he ordered sternly, as he brought down his fist on the chair's armrest for emphasis.

"...Beginning playback."

The beginning of the video began to play again, as Carolina's footsteps came to a stop behind his chair. "So, this is what you've become?"

He finally tore his gaze from the screen, and let it fall to the desk in front of him. "I think if I watch just one more time, I'll finally know where I went wrong...."

"The authorities are already on their way," Carolina said.

"Just a little more time..." he said.

"You've had your fucking time!"

Following the outburst, a blue light illuminated the desktop before Dr. Church. "You have to answer for what you did! To the Meta, to Washington, to Carolina, to me, and to her! To Texas!"

Dr. Church didn't bother to lift his head. "Hello, Epsilon. You came all this way just to see me? I'm flattered."

"I'm here to remember what you've done," Epsilon said. "Somebody has to!"

"Church..." Carolina said.

"Not all of us got off scot-free, Carolina!"

Still keeping his head down, Dr. Church watched as the light on the desk flickered to a bright green while Epsilon's voice became tense and calculating. "He was brilliant-" The bright green melted into a warm purple while his voice faded into that of a young boy. "-and we trusted him." A soft, robotic grey. "But he lied to us. He twisted..." A faint lavender mixed with harsh rage. "...and tortured us, and used us!" A brilliant, fiery orange with a voice to match. "Manipulated us for his own purposes, and for what? For this? This...shadow?!"

And finally, back to Epsilon blue. "He needs to pay."

Every word from the AI dug into Dr. Church like the claws of an animal, the grip growing tighter and tighter as the video continued on the screen above them. Epsilon didn't understand. No one did. Dr. Church had been paying since the day he let _her_ walk off to a battle she would not win. He'd been paying all these years, after every failed attempt to bring her back. He had paid so much, with so few results in return.

But now, now he was so close. He could practically hear her voice again, clear and sweet and not muffled by the quality of a video camera. He could practically feel her touch again. He was so close...

He reached up to remove his glasses. So close... he had always been so close. He had come so close to bringing her back many, many times, but every attempt was in vain. Every attempt was, as Epsilon put it, a _shadow_. A failure.

But he had come this far. He couldn't stop now. Even if...even if it wouldn't make any difference. Even if his own life was the price of success, or at the very least, one final attempt at success.

He finally looked up at Carolina. Those eyes, those bright green eyes that mirrored his, bore into him like a drill and the lack of glasses did nothing to blur her expression. Angry, hurt, _spiteful..._

Not that he expected anything less from her.

She was quiet for a few minutes, as the video reached its end again. The only sound that could be heard was the soft hum of the computer's motor, and faint sounds of the facility outside the door.

"Carolina?" Epsilon said after several minutes of silence. "Are you going to kill him or not?"

Carolina didn't take her gaze off Dr. Church, and he watched as her anger and spite melted into a look of sadness. "You know what, Epsilon?" she said, as she turned back to the door. "We're leaving."

"What?!" Epsilon sputtered in surprise. "I thought we came here to kill him!"

Dr. Church's head fell again, as he placed a hand on Carolina's arm before she could take a step forward. "Agent Carolina?"

"Yes, Director?"

"...Would you be so kind as to leave me your pistol?"

She looked back at him. "May I ask why?"

"...I would hope that my intentions are obvious."

A pause. "...I think it would be best if you waited for the authorities."

"Carolina, are you fucking serious?!" Epsilon asked. "First you don't kill him, then you don't even give him the chance to do it himself?"

"And what would be the point in walking out of here now without killing him if I did that?" she asked him. "I may have been angry with him, but I'm not _cruel_ , Epsilon."

Epsilon let out an indignant huff. "Oh, COME on! It's not like he'll survive in prison anyway. Just give him the damn pistol and let's get out of here."

Carolina sighed heavily as Dr. Church looked back up at the dark screen. "Play it again, FILSS," he ordered.

"Beginning playback."

Before he could watch the video again, his chair was suddenly forced away from the desk and spun around to face Carolina. "Get up," she ordered, her gun now aimed at him.

He stared at her with a look of worn confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," she said. "Out of the chair, now."

"Carolina, have you lost your mind?" Epsilon asked. "I mean, if you changed your mind about killing him, I won't stop you, but I'd like to be kept in the loop at least!"

"I must admit, you are bein' rather contradictory, Agent Carolina," Dr. Church said.

"You're coming with us," she said firmly. "And if I have to shoot you, it'll only be to injure, not kill. If I absolutely need to, I'll carry you out of here. But you're coming with us."

"But I..." Dr. Church looked back at the screen.

"You're leaving that behind," she continued. "You can fight me all you want, but we both know how that will turn out."

Dr. Church remained still for a moment as he considered his options. He could resist Carolina's order, and she would force him to leave anyway. He hadn't eaten in days and she could easily carry his body out of the building. He could have FILSS eject her from the premises, but the authorities were already on their way and since Carolina had made it to the room without issue, it was likely that the army of Texes was now out of commission and there would be little to stop the authorities from breaking in.

He had no choice.

"Very well..."

He stood up from the chair, hands up as if he was actually being arrested. Carolina jerked her free thumb towards the door without taking her eyes off him. "Walk."

With a defeated nod, he took a shaky step forward, and then another, and another towards the door. He felt Carolina press the gun against his back as he continued on through the doorway.

"Director?" FILSS asked. "The video ended. Would you like me to play it again?"

"Yes, FILSS," he said softly. "Keep it on a loop."

"Of course, sir. Would you like me to go on standby?"

"I think that would be appropriate for the time bein'," he said. "You've earned a break."

"Thank you, sir."

He could hear the sound of Allison's voice start up again behind them as FILSS fell quiet, the sound growing fainter and fainter as they continued forward. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and run back to the room.

But he didn't turn back. He didn't bother to argue or try and push his way past Carolina in order to make it back to the room. He knew for a fact she would only force him away again.

He knew he would not be allowed to go back to Allison.

And, despite Carolina's previous claims, he couldn't think of any punishment more cruel.

\----------------------

The first thing Dallas saw when he opened his eyes was light.

He was on his back and the surface beneath him was soft, likely some kind of bed. His armor had also been removed, and there was a slight ache in both his right shoulder and left foot.

Ache...

Oh.

_Right._

He pulled himself up to a sitting position as he attempted to focus his vision, and immediately recognized the room around him as the infirmary in the New Republic. Against the far wall, he could see General Kimball and Agent Washington engaged in a hushed conversation with their backs to his bed. On one of the empty beds lay his suit of armor, looking surprisingly lifeless and hollow without him. Near the counter was Dr. Grey, too distracted with sorting one of the infirmary's medical kits to notice right away that Dallas was awake.

A mix of relief and fear overtook Dallas as things began to click into place. Washington was alive. Kimball was alive. They had made it back to the New Republic.

But where was everyone else? Tucker? Caboose? Carolina? Oh, God, where was Carolina—

"Oooh, someone's awake~!"

Dr. Grey had finally turned around, and was at Dallas's bedside in an instant. Upon hearing her exclamation, Kimball and Washington immediately paused their conversation and followed suit.

"Thank goodness," Dr. Grey said, her voice full of relief. "We thought we'd lost you there for a while!"

"You're lucky Felix was so pissed off when he shot you," Kimball said. "Or else his aim might have been more accurate."

Almost instinctively, Dallas's hand traveled up to the spot where Felix had shot him. The wound had been bandaged and cared for while he had been unconscious (no surprises as to who had done such a thing), but the ache was still there. Dallas had a feeling the hole itself would leave a lasting scar.

"Perhaps I got too caught up in the moment," he said sheepishly.

"You gave everyone quite a scare," Dr. Grey said. "But if this war has taught me anything, it's how to properly patch up a bullet wound! And a knife wound. And fix a sprained ankle, but that was the EASY part! By the way, that might still be a little tender, so try not to put too much pressure on it."

"A knife wound?" Dallas said slowly, before realization took hold of him. "Where's Tucker? What happened to him?!"

"He's fine," Washington assured him. "He left the infirmary before you woke up. My guess is he wanted to get away from the lieutenant that spent most of his recovery crying and begging for him to live."

"He was a sweet boy," Dr. Grey said. "But a bit over-dramatic."

"Palomo..." Dallas said, shaking his head. "Well, what about everyone else? Caboose? Carolina? The Reds? Are they all okay?"

"Everyone's fine," Washington said. "A few bumps and bruises, but the plan went surprisingly well. The only thing that didn't go according to plan was Felix and Locus escaping, but Epsilon managed to get our message to the capital before the fighting before things got out of hand."

Kimball shook her head. "I just...can't believe that bastard. All this time, I thought he wanted to help us..."

Dallas's expression softened. "I'm sorry, General. I know it must've been a shock to learn Felix's true intentions."

A loud thump outside the infirmary door distracted them from the conversation and all heads turned towards the door out of curiosity. With an amused chuckle, Dr. Grey hurried to the door to investigate the source of the noise. "Sounds like you have a few visitors, Dallas."

From his bed, Dallas could see two figures outside the doorway. One was attempting to hide the fact that she had fallen on the ground with an over-dramatic pose, and the other looked panicked over the fact that they had been caught in the process of eavesdropping.

"We're sorry!" Michaels said hastily. "We were on our way to come check on Dallas, and we heard talking—"

"I totally didn't fall," Sinclair insisted. "I meant to do this."

"It's alright," Dr. Grey assured them, stepping to the side so they could enter. "He's awake now, so you can come in."

"Dallas!"

Sinclair pulled herself up from the floor and the two of them hurried to his bedside, nearly shifting it as they wrapped their arms around Dallas in a tight hug. Despite the ache in his shoulder growing more painful from their embraces, Dallas was not about to tell either of them to stop hugging him, and even went so far as to embrace them as best he could in return.

"We thought you were dead!" Michaels said, his voice trembling as if he had been crying. "We thought Felix had...had..."

"It's okay," Dallas assured him, hugging them closer. "I'm okay."

"He told us the Feds had killed you," Sinclair said, her voice also shaking. "All of you... But then we saw the message at the capital and...yeah, things kinda just clicked."

"I'm okay," he repeated. "I'm okay."

"But hugging him like that might hurt his injury," Dr. Grey said as she approached the bed again.

Both lieutenants immediately jumped back from Dallas as if they'd been startled. "It's alright, Emily," Dallas said. "They were happy to see me."

"Though, we should be punching you for leaving us like that..." Sinclair muttered.

"But we won't!" Michaels assured him.

"Yeah, we won't..." Sinclair said. "But we should."

Dallas's expression softened. "Yes, I did leave you two here, and for that I am sorry. Things got complicated and as I said in the video we left, I didn't want either of you to get hurt... But if I had known what was really goin' on with Felix, I would have never left you two alone with him."

" _Speaking_ of which," Kimball spoke up. "I do have a few personal questions I need to ask you before we all get too buddy-buddy."

Dallas noticed Washington shift uncomfortably at Kimball's request, and even Dr. Grey seemed to occupy herself with the medical kit again in an attempt to distract herself from the conversation. Even Sinclair and Michaels seemed to shuffle back from the bed nervously.

"What do you mean by 'questions,' General?" he asked.

Kimball exchanged a glance with Washington before turning back to Dallas. "I'll get straight to the point: In the message we received at the capital, Felix mentioned Project Freelancer several times, and even went so far as to call you 'Director'."

Dallas felt his stomach drop. The fact that Felix's taunts about Project Freelancer would be in their message had completely slipped his mind. And since the message had been sent to the capital, it was likely that everyone in both armies were now aware of his actual identity.

"Now, I'm not here to judge you on a personal level," Kimball said. "What you did during Project Freelancer and why is not my business and if the situation was different, I wouldn't bother prying. But what _is_ my business is the safety of my troops. And after what happened with Felix, I can't be too careful with who I trust."

"What do you require from me, General?" Dallas asked. "Name it and I'll do it."

"I want you to tell me everything," she said. "Who you really are, and how Felix knew that information about you. I need to hear the truth from your own mouth if I'm expected to trust you around my soldiers."

Dallas looked towards the lieutenants for a moment, their expressions full of concern. He shifted his gaze to Washington, then to Dr. Grey, and finally back to Kimball.

"I suppose that's a fair request after everythin' that's happened," he said, with a heavy sigh. "Very well. My real name is Dr. Leonard Church. I was indeed the Director of Project Freelancer, and the majority of the stories printed about me are, unfortunately, true. As ashamed as I am to bring up my past wrongdoings, I won't deny they happened. In any case, I faked my death and the Reds and Blues convinced the UNSC that they had killed me."

"Why did you fake your death?" Kimball asked.

Dallas paused. "Admittedly, it was not my idea. I'd...rather not get into specifics as to why, but I did expect to die that day. Agent Carolina is the one who kept me alive and had me join Blue Team. Why she did that, I am uncertain, but she didn't give me much choice in the matter."

"I see..." Kimball said. "What about Felix? Was he ever a part of Project Freelancer?"

Dallas shook his head. "The first time I met him was here on Chorus. He managed to figure out my identity despite my best attempts to keep it a secret, due to the fact that his employer had provided him and Locus with enough information on how to locate me. Felix told us all this while we were at the Federal Army's base, along with their plans for Chorus."

"Do you know who their employer is?" Kimball asked.

"Unfortunately, we are still attemptin' to figure that out," Dallas said. "All we know is that they operate under the alias of 'Control' and they have enough power to start a war without attractin' the attention of the UNSC. However, we have been workin' hard to figure out an answer and once we find one, we'll be able to take the next step in puttin' a stop to their plans once and for all."

Kimball continued to stare at him in silence for a moment, before turning her attention to Washington. "You worked with Project Freelancer," she said. "How legitimate is his story?"

"He's telling the truth," Washington assured her. "He's done nothing but try to help us stop the mercenaries' plans."

"Can he be trusted around my troops?" Kimball asked. "Or will he turn out like Felix? Because I refuse to blindly put my trust in someone only to be betrayed again."

A surge of worry overtook Dallas at Kimball's question. While the relationship between himself and Washington had definitely grown more positive with time, Washington had made it clear that he still carried a fair amount of distrust towards Dallas. And if Agent Washington had his issues with trusting him, then it was more than likely that Kimball would have similar feelings.

Washington remained silent for a moment before he finally spoke: "General, I can assure you without a doubt that Dallas will not do what Felix did. He has nothing but the best interests of your troops in mind, and will continue to do everything he can to put a stop to this war. He is your ally."

Kimball looked towards Dallas. "If that's the truth, then I am very happy to have you here as a part of our army, Captain Dallas."

"Thank you, General," Dallas said gratefully. "You will not regret puttin' your trust in me."

"For your sake, I hope not," she said.

"Miss Kimball!"

Kimball let out a groan at the sound of another voice from somewhere outside the infirmary. "I apologize for cutting this conversation short, but I have some more urgent, and more _annoying,_ matters to attend to."

"I understand, General," Dallas said. "It was good to see you again."

"Likewise," she said. "I do apologize for your rude awakening, though."

"It wouldn't be my first," he said in a half-amused voice.

Kimball hurried out of the infirmary as the voice outside called her name again. Dallas heard Dr. Grey chuckle as the door slammed shut behind Kimball. "Those two, I swear. A cat and a mouse could find a way to get along better than them."

"Give it some time," Washington said. "It's only been a few hours since they found out that the war was all a hoax. They're not used to the fact that they're no longer enemies."

Dallas looked back towards the door. "So, I'm to assume that was—"

"General Donald Doyle of the Federal Army of Chorus," Dr. Grey said proudly.

"I think he's nice," Michaels said. "But General Kimball doesn't like him."

"I think he's a weenie," Sinclair added. "But like...in the same way Keith's a weenie. So I guess he's alright."

"Aw, come on, Jack!" Michaels said with a laugh.

Dallas smiled as he watched Sinclair nudge her friend playfully. "I'm happy to see the two of you well," he said. "I really am sorry that things turned out the way they did."

"So, you're really the Director of Project Freelancer?" Sinclair asked.

"Well, I _was_ ," Dallas said. "Project Freelancer has been disbanded for quite some time, so callin' myself Director now would be inaccurate."

"...So was that story about the Freelancers jumping off a building a hundred miles high," Sinclair said. "Was that true?"

"I don't know if it was THAT many, but it was still a high building," Washington spoke up.

"Wait, YOU were one of the Freelancers who jumped off a building?!" Sinclair asked him.

Washington chuckled nervously. "Well, uh, I mean, technically I was—"

"That's amazing!" Michaels said. "Weren't you terrified?"

"It was so long ago, I barely remember everything that happened," Washington said modestly. "But it was definitely an experience."

Sinclair looked at Washington. "Okay, I'm totally fine with losing Felix and getting you and that other Freelancer instead. You two are way cooler than he is."

"Isn't her name Carolina?" Michaels asked.

"Yeah, her," Sinclair said. "She's cooler than Felix! And she kinda sounds hotter than him, too."

 _Felix..._ "Speakin' of Felix," Dallas said. "Before we left, I couldn't help but overhear the two of you talkin' about him. Among other things."

Sinclair's smile fell and Michaels' expression melted into one of shock. "You heard that?" Sinclair asked.

Dallas nodded, his expression soft. "Sinclair, I am sorry that I made you feel like you couldn't talk to me about how Felix was making you feel," he said. "And I'm sorry if I give off the impression that I thought our mission was more important than your feelings."

Sinclair's shoulders fell. "He just...reminded me of someone I cut out of my life a long time ago," she said. "And it hurt even worse when I found out he never actually cared about any of us. It was like...well, you probably heard her name, all over again, but ten times worse."

Dallas felt a rush of pity surge through him, and he even saw Washington cast the lieutenants a look of sympathy from the opposite end of the infirmary. "I'm so sorry, Sinclair. I'm sorry that I couldn't be there for you when you needed help, especially in a time like that."

Sinclair shrugged. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter now. Felix is a massive prick, and the only thing we can do now is make sure he gets the ass-kicking he deserves."

"Absolutely," Dallas said. "And this time, I'm going to be right here beside you. And I don't intend to leave until this war is stopped for good."

Sinclair's smile returned and once again, she wrapped her arms around Dallas in a hug. Michaels followed suit, and Dallas once again found himself holding the two of them close in a warm embrace. It had been so long since he had hugged someone like this. The last time he could recall had been when Carolina was about six.

Carolina...

Dallas thought back to the images that had flashed through his mind during his state of unconsciousness. He remembered that strong feeling of _need_ , that overwhelming obsession with Allison that had consumed him for so long. How close said obsession had brought him to the point where he was willing to take his own life out of sadness, depression, guilt, and a wide range of differing reasons.

And yet, Carolina hadn't granted him that chance.

She had been so angry with him that day, and yet she had still spared his life. Not only spared it, but adamantly refused to let him die. Despite all her anger... He was still alive.

No, more than just 'alive'.

He had met the Reds and Blues, and they had come to see him as one of their own. He was a leader, a _proper_ leader, to Michaels and Sinclair. He had made so many friends and allies on Chorus, whereas the Director of Project Freelancer had only occupied himself with an old video and pushed away or hurt anyone else who dared to come close.

He was not just alive, he was actually _living_ again.

All because of her.

"Sir? Sir, you're squeezing us too tight!"

Dallas immediately withdrew his arms upon hearing Michaels' outcry. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Michaels, I was kind of—"

"Spacing?" Sinclair asked.

"Yes, something like that," Dallas said, before turning his attention to Dr. Grey. "Emily, do you think I'm well enough to get up and walk around the base?"

"Can he, Dr. Grey?" Michaels asked sweetly.

"Yeah, come on, Doc," Sinclair added. "If a bullet can't kill him, I doubt a walk will."

Dr. Grey let out a joyful laugh. "I like these kids! They're rebellious!"

"Well, we _are_ called the Rebels for a reason," Sinclair pointed out.

"Well, looks like I'm outvoted," Dr. Grey said. "Alright, I suppose some time out of bed won't hurt anyone. Just be careful and don't put too much weight on your injured leg. Maybe someone should help support you for the time being—"

"I can help with that," Washington offered, as he approached Dallas's bedside. "Besides, I know a few soldiers who'd be happy to see him up and moving again."

Dallas nodded and carefully swung his legs over to one side of the bed. "Could someone hand me my armor?"

"It might be best to keep it off for now, so it doesn't chafe your wounds," Dr. Grey said. "Whoo boy, the stories I could tell about that!"

"Will that be safe, Emily?" Dallas asked. "I seem to recall there bein' a lot of radiation in the area."

"It's only dangerous if you touch it," Michaels spoke up quickly. "It's, uh, it's a special kind of radiation only found on Chorus that will only poison you if you come into direct contact with it. Completely safe to inhale, however."

Dallas raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Michaels nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously. "I, um... we learned about it in high school. I remember because Jack got in trouble for whispering 'my dick's radioactive' after we learned about it."

"And I still stand by that statement!" Sinclair said proudly. "Despite the month of detentions I got."

Dallas chuckled. "Well, if there's no harm in leavin' my armor here, then I might as well savor the chance to be out of it for a short while."

"Smart call," Washington said. "We may have taken out most of the mercs, but with Locus and Felix still out there and Control leading them, this war is far from over. It's best to take advantage of any moments of peace we can get."

Using the bed frame to keep himself sturdy, Dallas rose to his feet. Washington immediately swooped in to help, and tucked an arm around Dallas's body to support him.

"Thank you, Agent Washington," Dallas said, looking up at the Freelancer with a soft smile.

"Just be safe," Dr. Grey warned. "In the meantime, how would Michaels and Sinclair like to assist me with packing up the supplies here so they'll be ready to transfer to the capital?"

Dallas heard Sinclair let out a groan as he took a step forward, followed by another, and another as Washington led him towards the infirmary door. Steps so similar to the ones he took as Carolina forced him out of his little room of solitude and isolation. Steps that, at the time, he was so sure were leading him to nothing but hopelessness. A life he didn't want to keep living.

And yet, here he was. Taking one step after another, out of the infirmary and through the New Republic. Supported by someone who once despised him and distrusted his every movement, but could now speak to him without malice or hatred in his voice. The distrust was still there, but Washington had still been able to honestly defend him upon Kimball's request for information. That had been miles ahead of their relationship back during the first few weeks on Chorus.

"It's busy here now," Washington observed as they looked around.

Dallas nodded. "There were not as many soldiers here durin' our first visit. But I suppose that's what happens when you combine two armies in one, small cave system."

"True."

Dallas looked at him. "By the way, Washington, I appreciate what you said to General Kimball. I know it was probably an uncomfortable topic—"

"Not at all," Washington said. "All I did was tell her the truth."

"Still, it would have been easy to tell her that I was untrustworthy, or somethin' similar," Dallas pointed out. "She would have likely banned me from the base or force me to suffer some other form of punishment."

"I did consider it," Washington admitted. "But with what we're up against, we can't afford to push away anyone willing to help us fight. You were right about needing to put aside personal grudges in order to win this war, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Well, I appreciate it nonetheless, Washington," Dallas said.

"Of course, once we're back in Blood Gulch, I'll probably make you run a couple hundred laps around the canyon for going and getting shot like that," Washington said. "You're no help to us dead, rookie."

Dallas chuckled fondly. "My mistake, sir. I'll do my best to keep it from happenin' again."

"That is BULLSHIT, Palomo! What I actually told you was to shut the fuck up and stop crying on me!"

Both turned their attention towards the sound of Tucker's voice coming from the small crowd that had gathered around the speaking platform, which they had finally reached. The smile on Dallas's face widened as his gaze jumped from soldier to soldier. Caboose, Simmons, Grif, Donut, Sarge...Even Lopez was a sight for sore eyes.

"I just can't believe you all survived!" Jensen was saying in awe.

"Yeah, believe me, we didn't expect it either," Grif said in response. "But we're just that fucking awesome."

"Hey, let's not say we _all_ survived until Dallas wakes up," Tucker said. "We might jinx the guy."

"Jinx?" Caboose said. "Does that mean we owe him a soda? Tucker, do you think Dallas would like it if I went and got him soda from the gas station?"

Tucker shook his head. "Oh, my God, Caboose..."

Dallas's smile widened as he and Washington exchanged a glance. "Don't be so hard on him, Tucker," he said loud enough for Tucker to hear. "Perhaps he can pick you up a couple of those magazines you wanted so badly durin' our first visit to the fuelin' station."

Upon hearing Dallas's voice, Tucker immediately spun around on the spot to face him. "Hey, look who's back from the dead!" he said cheerfully. "We thought you bit it for good, man."

"Yes, well, I believe it was Grif who said, and I quote, 'we are simply that awesome,'" Dallas said. "I guess I've spent so long around all of you that some of that must've worn off on me."

"Take my word for it," Washington said. "That's a likely possibility."

Tucker laughed and approached them. "Well, I mean, obviously. But like, you're a billion fucking years old and you survived a shot to the chest. Do you know how many babes you'll be able to get with a story like that?"

Dallas shook his head. "Tucker..."

"Oh, right, uh...sorry," Tucker said. "I'm just saying, if you wanted to, you could."

"It _was_ pretty impressive," Simmons said. "Only time I've seen someone else survive something like that is when Wash shot Donut."

Washington cleared his throat. "Let's, uh, not go into that."

"Hey, I remember that!" Donut said cheerfully, with a gesture to his own shoulder. "And it was right in the same spot! It looks like Dallas and I are hole buddies now!"

Despite the groans from everyone around him, Dallas couldn't hold back a tired laugh. He was really beginning to enjoy Donut's ridiculous, and questionably unintentional, innuendos. But it wasn't Donut he needed to talk to at the moment. In fact, he noticed that a particular suit of turquoise-green-aqua armor did not seem to be among the Reds and Blues.

"Where is Carolina?" he asked.

"I think I saw her and Church heading down to the lake," Tucker said. "They've been kinda keeping to themselves since we got here. Only time I got a chance to talk to them is when I left the infirmary earlier."

"If by talk, you mean 'show Carolina your battle scar'," Grif said.

"It's like I said, chicks dig battle scars," Tucker said. "And I was covering as much ground as I could before Dallas woke up and wooed all the girls with his fucking bullet hole scar. Everyone knows a bullet hole is way more badass than a knife wound."

"Didn't you just say you thought he was going to die?" Simmons asked.

"Look, I wasn't SURE, alright?" Tucker said. "Cut me some slack."

"Why was Carolina at the infirmary?" Dallas asked. "Did she get injured in the battle?"

"I don't know," Tucker said. "I didn't stick around long after that because _somebody_ wouldn't leave me alone."

"Palomo?" Dallas guessed.

"I just wanted to make sure he was okay!" Palomo cried from the group of lieutenants.

"I kept telling you I was fine!" Tucker yelled in return. "But you wouldn't stop crying long enough to listen!"

"Carolina was fine after the battle," Washington said. "She did stop by the infirmary at one point so Dr. Grey could check on her leg, but she left immediately after the checkup was finished, and that was before Tucker woke up. I don't know why she'd come back."

"Maybe she wanted to make sure Dallas was okay," Caboose said. "I know I would have liked to know if Dallas was okay. Dallas is my friend."

Dallas looked back towards the direction of the lake. Carolina had returned to the infirmary, even after Dr. Grey had finished caring for her wounds. She had not been badly injured in the fight with the mercenaries. So why had she bothered to return to the infirmary at all? Had she come to check on Tucker?

...Had she come to check on him?

No, that was unlikely. Why would she bother concerning herself with his well-being? He had wronged her for so long, and she didn't deserve to spend her time constantly worrying about him.

And yet...

Dallas thought back to the conversation that he and Dr. Grey had shared in regards to Carolina. _"Maybe she misses her father." "Maybe if the two of you talked about things, you might be able to get some kind of closure."_ He thought about how Tucker had said something very similar back in the canyon. _“Hey, it’s never too late to talk!”_. He thought about that day in the facility, how he would have likely died if it hadn't been for Carolina's interference.

His thoughts drifted back to the day in the facility. How she had spared his life, how she had called the idea to give him her pistol 'cruel' despite her anger. How, unlike Epsilon or Washington, she hadn't shown him the slightest bit of anger since they had left the facility despite the fact that he probably deserved so much from her.

He absentmindedly touched his bandages again. "You said Carolina was down by the lake?"

"Yeah, why?" Tucker asked.

"You remember what you told me back in the canyon, Tucker?" Dallas asked. "About how it's never too late to talk to my child?"

"Oh, yeah, I did say that, didn't I?" Tucker said. "So much shit's gone down that I almost forgot."

Dallas sighed. "Well, I think it's time I finally take that advice to heart. Lord knows I've been puttin' it off long enough. I nearly missed my chance altogether when I, well, when I almost died and I might not be so lucky next time."

"Wait, what do you mean by..." Tucker's voice trailed off thoughtfully before realization stuck. "What, Carolina's your daughter?!"

"Yes, didn't I mention that?" Dallas asked, a smile forming.

"It was very obvious, Tucker," Caboose said matter-of-factly.

"They have the exact same eyes," Simmons said.

"Yeah, even _I_ knew that," Grif added.

"Wha-Aw, man, I talked about flirting with her in front of her dad!" Tucker groaned. "Why didn't anyone tell me?!"

"You never asked!" Donut said.

"Even _DONUT_ knew?! Guys, what the fuck?!"

Washington looked at Dallas. "You want me to help you walk to the lake?"

"You know what? I think I can make the trip myself," Dallas said. "But thank you for bringin' me this far, Washington."

Washington gave him a nod, and carefully took a step back from him. Dallas half-expected to feel some kind of soreness in his foot, but found that he was able to stand without issue. So, after casing one last look at the group of multi-colored soldiers, he turned and began to head towards the direction of the radioactive lake.

One step.

Then another.

And another.

He passed the dimmed windows of a nearby building and Dallas caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. It had been quite some time since he'd seen his own face, other than in a warped reflection of a helmet visor, and he couldn't help but stop and stare for a moment.

The first things he noticed were the more obvious features, like the length of both his facial hair and the hair atop his head. When he had been the Director, he had always taken great care to keep both tidy and neat. Now, his hair was a long, and slightly curled, mess that almost reached his shoulders. And his goatee had grown out to a forming beard that covered most of his chin, which he reached up to touch as if he couldn't believe it was real.

Or perhaps he couldn't believe HE was real. That the man he was staring at was once Leonard Church, Director of Project Freelancer.

Once...

He let his hand fall to his side. He could say, without a doubt, that Dr. Leonard Church had died a long time ago. Whether it had been that day in the facility, or the day he had taken the name Dallas, or a completely different date altogether, he wasn't sure.

But the man he was staring at was not Dr. Leonard Church.

It was Dallas.

The rookie on Blue Team of Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha. The captain to both Michaels and Sinclair. Someone who had taken part in a plan to stop two genocidal mercenaries from destroying the planet and succeeded, for the time being.

The man who had been given a second chance. A chance to move on from a woman who was never coming back. A chance to form new relationships with so many people who actually cared about him.

Dallas finally tore his gaze from his reflection looked towards the radioactive lake. Yes, there was no doubt that Dr. Leonard Church was dead. But words were flimsy, and he couldn't simply _state_ that he was attempting to be a better person.

He had to prove it to those he had hurt. And prove it again. As many times as it took.


	33. Part 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I never had the chance to serve in battle. Nor did fate provide me the opportunity to sacrifice myself for humanity as it did for so many others in the Great War."_
> 
> This is the story of how Dr. Leonard Church died, in order to finally live again, with a familiar group of simulation soldiers and two less-than-forgiving Freelancers as his guide.
> 
> Setting: Seasons 11 + 12 AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Dallas continued walking again, until he reached the shoreline of the lake. In the distance, he could see Carolina's silhouette on a platform at the water's edge, with Epsilon's hologram beside her shoulder.

Dallas couldn't help but smile at the sight. The two of them were so close now, that one could mistake them for siblings if they didn't know any better. The thought both warmed and broke his heart simultaneously. Epsilon was so good to Carolina; so protective whenever someone or something posed a threat to her well-being, but still giving her enough space to make her own decisions.

Epsilon was definitely a far better Leonard Church than he'd ever been.

"Hey, asshole, are you going to spend all day staring at us or are you going to say something?"

Dallas stumbled back in surprise at the sight of Epsilon appearing right before his face.

Epsilon cackled. "Okay, okay, I still hate your guts, but even I have to admit that watching you jump like that is fucking hilarious."

"I'm just glad to see the two of you are alright," Dallas said.

"Oh, don't even try to have a moment with me," Epsilon said. "But if you want to talk to her, just go do it already because you staring at us is starting to weird me out."

"You're not goin' to chew me out for that?" Dallas asked.

"Look, you took a fucking bullet to the shoulder," Epsilon said. "As much as I kind of hoped for something like that to happen, the execution wasn't as enjoyable as I'd thought it'd be. Carolina was really worried about you."

"She was?" Dallas asked.

"Yeah, she was. I don't get _why_ , but she was," Epsilon said. "I'm not even sure if _she_ knows why. But in any case, I couldn't enjoy the sight of Caboose piggybacking your unconscious ass to the infirmary because I was too busy worrying about _her_."

"He did what now?" Dallas asked. "That doesn't seem like the best method when it comes to transportin' patients."

"Never said it was," Epsilon said, his blue hologram flickering green for a moment. "Aw, shit. Okay, look, I have to go on standby mode for a bit. If you're going to talk to her, go do it now before I'm finished with this decryption process."

"Thank you, Epsilon," Dallas said.

"Don't thank me," Epsilon said. "That talk better include a billion 'I'm sorry's and a novel's worth of 'I suck the world's biggest dick and I'm not worth more than the dirt under your feet, oh-great-and-perfect Carolina' or I'm coming after you. And I'm not even taking the fact that you _are_ the world's biggest dick into consideration because imagining you sucking yourself is something I REALLY don't want to think about."

"Likewise," Dallas said. "But I will see what I can do."

Epsilon's hologram fizzled out of sight, leaving Dallas to turn his attention back to Carolina. Had she really been that worried about him? Had he been the reason for her presence at the infirmary? Tucker had said that it was never too late to talk to her. Dr. Grey had even suggested that maybe Carolina missed having her father in her life. And now even Epsilon was telling him that she had been worried about him.

Could it really be true? Did he _want_ it to be true? He knew for a fact that her concern was the last thing he deserved, and the fact that she had actually been worried about his state of being was honestly troubling. She didn't deserve to waste her valuable time worrying about him.

"You'd better stop before you walk right into the lake."

Dallas had been too distracted by his own thoughts to pay attention to where his feet were leading him, and it was only when he heard the sound of Carolina's voice beside him that he realized he now stood beside her on the platform by the lake's edge. A little _too_ close to the lake's edge, for he was a few steps away from stepping right into the radioactive waters.

"I apologize, my mind was...elsewhere," he said, taking a step back.

"You sure it's safe for you to be out here without armor?" Carolina asked. "I mean, this place is crawling with radiation."

"Well, several reliable sources have assured me that the specific type of radiation in the area is only toxic when absorbed through the skin, and is perfectly safe to inhale," he explained slowly, as he stared at the water. "Besides, it takes years for radiation poisonin' to take effect so even if I were to come in contact with any of it, I would not die right away."

"Well, good," she said. "From what I hear, there's a lot of people who would be pretty upset if you went and died on them after everything that's happened."

Dallas nodded. "Yes, I see the irony in the idea of radiation poisonin' accomplishin' what a bullet to the shoulder could not."

Carolina fell silent again, as her gaze traveled back out towards the lake. "So, uh, I talked to those lieutenants of yours while they were waiting for you."

"Michaels and Sinclair?" Dallas said.

"Yeah, them," Carolina said. "They're nice kids, though I think Sinclair kept trying to flirt with me. I don't mind, but she sounds like she's, what, ten years younger than I am?"

"Yeah, she does that," Dallas said with slight amusement. "Durin' our preparation for the original mission, she flirted with Tucker on multiple occasions."

Carolina looked at him. "I'm not sure if I should be offended at being placed on the same level of attraction as Tucker, or to be flattered. Or, you know, protect her from him."

"Way ahead of you," Dallas said. "Tucker is my friend, but I do admit that the way he treats women is...less than desirable."

"Once when he tried to flirt with me, he called himself 'Dr. Cloitus, MMD,'" Carolina pointed out. "And the MMD doesn't stand for what you think it does."

Dallas shook his head in an exasperated fashion. "Well, he has a long way to go. But he is attemptin' to be a bit more respectful."

"I _was_ impressed with that plan of his, though," Carolina said. "Everyone here owes their lives to the Reds and Blues."

Dallas nodded. "Despite what one might think, they're amazin' soldiers. In their own special ways, they can accomplish so much."

"Can I ask you something, Dallas?"

Dallas looked at her. "Yes, of course. You can ask me anythin'."

Carolina hesitated for a moment. "When was the last time you thought about...Allison?"

Dallas felt his heart lurch at the mention of her name. "...Well, I'll admit it wasn't all that long ago. And she has crossed my mind from time to time..."

"But when was the last time your thoughts were completely centered on her?" Carolina asked.

"I..."

He paused to think. When _was_ the last time his thoughts had been nothing but Allison? When was the last time he had only cared about bringing her back and nothing else? Had it been that day, after Carolina forced him away from the room while the sounds of her mother's voice grew fainter and fainter behind them? Had there been a point during his time in the canyon when his thoughts stopped being solely focused on her and the Reds and Blues slowly began to fill in the spaces in his mind that she once occupied.

"I couldn't give you a definite answer as to when my thoughts were strictly focused on her," he admitted. "But the last time I can clearly remember was that day in the facility."

"I see..." Carolina said softly.

"I had a dream about that day while I was unconscious," Dallas continued. "I could remember how obsessed I was, how strongly I believed that I was so close to bringin' her back. I thought if I could try just one more time..."

He shook his head. "But it wouldn't have mattered if I tried one more time or a thousand more times. It would have never been her, not _really_. And even if my some miracle it _was_ her, she would have been disgusted with everythin' I did to bring her back. _I_ would be disgusted if I were in her place."

He turned his attention to the lake. "I was a fool. A damn fool too caught up in my own selfish desires to revive someone who was never coming back. I know now that no matter what I did, no matter how many times I tried, it would never be her. So many soldiers lost their lives because of the things I did, and others are still sufferin' from the wounds my actions gave them. I've done more damage than I could ever hope to repair in my lifetime. I doubt I could accomplish such a task in _ten_ of my lifetimes."

"You, Epsilon, Washington... Everyone at Project Freelancer. You all deserved better," he said, his voice low. "More than better, you deserved a proper leader, not one who would endanger your lives just to further my own agenda. You were all incredible soldiers, and I held you back."

His gaze dropped to his hands. "If it hadn't been for you, I would have died a depressed, broken man with that burnin' obsession still controllin' me. But I'm here now. I'm _still_ alive. And I realize now that...I don't want to die. At least, not yet. I want to continue to help the people I've grown acquainted with over the past few months. I want to help put a stop to this war."

He looked towards her again. "I understand that this won't come close to fixin' the damage I've done, but I am sorry, Carolina. I am so sorry for everything I did. And while I'd understand if you can't accept my apology, I want you to know that I...well, I'm glad you spared my life that day in the facility. I know it was probably a difficult choice to make on your end, and I'm still not sure if I deserved it, but I'm glad I could be here today to do what I should have been doin' in the first place. I'm glad I can be here to help people. I'm glad I could be _alive_ for this. And I hope that I can eventually be someone you're proud to say you spared. But even if that never happens, I still want to try my hardest to get as close to that point as I possibly can."

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he fell silent and waited for her to respond. But after several minutes of silence, and several minutes of her keeping her gaze on the lake, Dallas had a feeling that she was not going to respond at all.

He sighed, and turned to leave. "I apologize for wastin' your time. But I've said all I needed to, and I'll let you return to your thoughts in peace—"

"Dallas..."

He froze . "Yes, Carolina?"

"...I can't accept your apology. Not right now."

"...I understand."

She looked at him, her hands travelling up to her helmet. "But, do you want to know why I spared your life?"

Dallas turned back to face her. "Well, I'll admit, I've been curious about it for quite some time."

Carolina paused for a moment, as she pulled her helmet off and her bright red hair tumbled down around her shoulders. "Up until I entered that room, I was still planning on killing you. I was so ready to just...end it right there. To kill the man who had done so much to hurt me, to hurt everyone I cared about. Not only that, but I WANTED to do it. I _wanted_ to kill you."

She paused. "But when I saw you sitting there, so pathetic and sad and broken, watching THAT video of _her_... I just...couldn't do it. As angry as I was, as much as I wanted it, it just didn't feel right. Nobody deserves that fate, not even you. I don't think even _Felix_ would deserve it. Leaving you to kill yourself seemed even worse, and as Epsilon pointed out, you would likely waste away if the police hauled you off to prison. Every option seemed to result in your death, and as much as I wanted that before I found you, as much as you deserved to be punished for your crimes, there had to be a better way than that."

So she had spared his life out of conflicting pity more than anything. Dallas was still unsure as to why she felt that pity towards him at all, but at least he now knew her reasons. "So you decided to give me to the Reds and Blues?"

"It wasn't the greatest plan," Carolina admitted. "But they didn't care about going after you in the first place. They didn't care about what happened with Project Freelancer, and they didn't care about your history. Did you know Wash didn't want to come help us find you at first, because the Reds and Blues wanted to stay behind?"

"He never told me that," Dallas said. "But I'm not surprised. They have an interestin' effect on people."

Carolina nodded. "They didn't seem to care one way or another about finding you, so I figured there would be little to no conflict between you and them if I brought you with us. Again, it wasn't the BEST plan, but we were supposed to return to Blood Gulch, and it would be easy enough to keep an eye on you out in the middle of some empty canyon until I thought up a better one."

"So you picked the least awful option available," Dallas said. "How very...Blood Gulch-esque of you."

She nodded. "It's like you said: those idiots have an interesting effect on people. I mean, I had no idea what would happen if I brought you with us. I wasn't even sure if sparing your life was the right choice at all. But I have a feeling that if I had been searching for you alone, if I never got them involved...I would have probably just killed you on the spot."

"I see..."

She sighed. "I've spent a lot of time wondering if I did the right thing that day. I made the choice I did because I had no better options, not because it was the choice I _wanted_ to make. Washington and Epsilon weren't too happy about it either, and I didn't blame them. Even when I made it clear to both of them that I would be the one watching out for you, I still had my doubts."

She looked at him. "Things didn't get any better when we crashed landed here. Epsilon and I picked up a transmission from the mercs about the equipment they were stealing from the wreckage and we had no choice but to investigate, which meant leaving you behind with everyone else. I know I should have at least said goodbye or explained the situation before we left but...well...I think we both know that no one in our family is the best at saying goodbye."

"No, no, we're not..." he said sadly.

"But I did feel terrible about leaving you behind with Wash," she continued. "The entire time we were away, I kept wondering what was happening back in the canyon. How were Wash and the others doing? How were _you_ doing? Did I actually care if you were alright, or would I have been fine if I never saw you again?"

Dallas nodded solemnly. "I understand."

"And then we got back, and..." She paused for a moment. "You had a new name. You had accents on your armor. And the Reds and Blues practically accepted you as one of their own. It eased a lot of the worries I had but at the same time, I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or bad thing."

"...You weren't sure if you were happy about the fact that I was being accepted by them," Dallas said.

"I may have felt sorry for you back in the facility, but it doesn't mean I was suddenly over everything you did," she said. "Those kind of feelings don't just disappear. And to see the Reds and Blues just treat you like some old friend... I didn't know how to feel about that. I wasn't angry, but...it was complicated."

"Understandable..."

She sighed. "However, I could tell that you weren't the same man you used to be. You cared about them, and you were willing to point out a problem in a civilized fashion, rather than just yell at or talk down to someone. And I could tell that every action you took required a lot of thinking on your end. You did everything you could to try and solve a problem without hurting those around you, and you were even willing to put your own life in danger to protect others. You don't even think about _her_ as often as you used to..."

She looked at him. "And even now, to hear you apologize for everything, it's...incredible."

"A good sort of 'incredible?'" Dallas asked.

"I don't know yet," Carolina said honestly. "It's too soon to make that call. But it makes me feel like I _did_ make the right choice that day."

A small smile began to form on her face and Dallas couldn't help but smile in return. "I really am sorry, Carolina. And I am serious about what I said before."

"Well, if that's true, then I'm interested to see what happens next," she said. "And I hope you continue to impress me."

Dallas smiled and gave her an appreciative nod as he looked down at his helmet. No wonder he had struggled with reading her expressions all this time. She had been struggling to understand her _own_ emotions in regards to the situation. She hadn't been mad at him. She hadn't missed him in her life. And she hadn't forgiven him for his past wrongdoings.

And yet, she had also recognized his desperate need to try and be a better person. She hadn't yelled or screamed at him, even if it was what he probably deserved. She was still unsure as to how to feel about him, and yet she hadn't driven him away or told him to never speak to her again.

Dallas thought back to his conversation with Dr. Grey in the forest, and how he had felt afterwards. _Okay._ That was a good word to describe his feelings now. 

He felt okay.

There had been so many different instances as of late where he had felt okay. More than he could probably list on both hands. And yet, it was more times than he could list between Allison's death and the day in the facility. Carolina couldn't forgive him, but that was okay. And okay was better than suicidal, or hopeless, or any sort of negative emotion he had felt for so long.

And Dallas would continue to do whatever he could to make sure things would _stay_ okay. For himself, and for anyone around him.

"Are we done with the apologies?" Epsilon's hologram appeared beside Carolina's shoulder. "Okay, good, because guess who just finished a very long and annoying decryption process? This guy right here."

"You've got the manifest?" Carolina asked.

"Fuck yeah I got the manifest," Epsilon said. "And I believe we've found our culprit."

"Who is it?" Dallas asked.

"A big umbrella company that got a hand in every major market you can think of," Epsilon said. "Even messed with cryogenics a few years back, but it looks like their largest profit comes from weapons and technology. In fact, it also looks like they own most of the stuff on the ship."

A look of knowing washed over Dallas's face. "Epsilon, what's the company's name?"

"Don't tell me you don't know already, Mr. Genius," Epsilon said.

"Epsilon," Dallas said slowly. "What is their name?"

Epsilon stared at him as a holographic logo appeared beside his body. "...Charon Industries."

Dallas began to laugh. A loud, overjoyed, passionate laugh that sounded like it hadn't seen the light of day in years, as things finally began to click. The amount of power that Control seemed to possess over the mercenaries. The seemingly-endless amount of money that could easily be spent on enough weapons and technology to achieve their goal. The fact that they desired his head on a silver platter so strongly that they had given Felix and Locus a specific mission to keep an eye out for him on top of their original mission. The constant egging from said mercenaries regarding his past wrongdoings.

It finally made sense.

"Carolina, what happened to the pirates that we took out at the radio jammer?" Dallas asked.

"They were placed in solitary confinement after Dr. Grey patched them up," she responded. "Kimball's orders."

"Perfect," Dallas said, as he turned his attention to Epsilon. "Epsilon, would you like to accompany me on my trip back to the infirmary? I have a letter I need to write and I could really use your help."

Epsilon chuckled. "You know what? For once, I was hoping you'd ask."

\-------------------------------------

"We got 'em."

"Connect us, Epsilon," Dallas said.

"With pleasure."

The radio crackled for a moment before a voice began to fade in and out and Dallas smiled as the voice finally grew more coherent. The voice was garbled and distorted, as if it had been layered with several filters but Dallas could hear the faint hint of a familiar English accent in the mix.

"Yes, hello!" Caboose said loudly upon hearing the voice. "I would like to order!"

"What?" the voice said sharply. "What is this?!"

"An outside transmission..."

"How the Hell did they get this channel?!"

Felix and Locus's voices. _Perfect._ Dallas gave a nod at the computer and an article flashed onto the screen. The same article that Dr. Grey had mentioned a short while ago, with a photo that proudly displayed all the Reds and Blues for their triumph over Project Freelancer.

"'Colorful Space Marines Stop Corruption,'" Epsilon said aloud. "You know, I really love the picture they used for this thing but I gotta say I liked description even more. Hey, Dallas, I'm having some trouble reading this text, can you tell me what it says?"

"'Pictured above, the Red and Blue troopers of Project Freelancer receive a full pardon from UNSC Oversight Chairman and Charon Industries CEO, Malcolm Hargrove,'" Dallas quoted smugly. "You know, it's funny. I stayed off to the side durin' that photo op. Didn't think it would be wise to answer too many questions about the events that unfolded. But I suppose that was a smart decision, given the fact that the man that happened to be shaking the hands of my friends would be the man tryin' to kill all of us here on Chorus. Am I right, my dear Chairman?"

The voice remained silent for a moment before responding: "Well, it's certainly been a while since I've heard that voice. Hello, Director."

"Director?" Sarge asked. "I don't see no Director here. Only see some nasty blue rookie by the name of Dallas. What about the rest of you?"

"Nope, no Director," Tucker added. "Washington? Do you know what he's talking about?"

"Not a clue," Washington said. "The Director of Project Freelancer is dead. Or, at least, I certainly hope he is. Because if he was, say, alive and caught in the middle of a civil war and the UNSC got word of his presence, they'd probably want to interrogate him."

"And if they interrogate him, he might let it slip that the war was started by a certain CEO of a big-name corporation," Dallas pointed out. "Which would be bad for said corporation and CEO's reputation."

"Especially if the rest of us verify his statements as fact," Carolina added.

"Well, it's a good thing that he's dead then," Caboose said. "Because that would be very bad!"

"Oh, make no mistake, I have no plans to inform the UNSC that your death was...greatly exaggerated," Hargrove said. "Because you see, it's only a matter of time before such an exaggeration becomes fact. Not just for some pathetic ex-Director, but for all of you. And if you were hoping to negotiate some kind of surrender, I'm afraid that your ship has, quite literally, set sail."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Washington said. "But in the meantime, we were hoping we could read you a little letter."

"Its just a little something we put together for you," Sarge added. "Considerin' we'll probably be seein' a lot of each other over the next few weeks."

"Dallas, would you like to start?" Epsilon asked.

"I couldn't think of a higher honor," Dallas said, his smile widening. "Dear Chairman..."

"It has come to our attention that you have declared war on the planet Chorus," Epsilon continued. "We regret to inform you that this is a really shitty idea."

"Not only have you managed to annoy the people that you failed to kill, time and time again, you've also found a way to piss off an entire planet," Dallas said.

"Now they may not have the best equipment and they might not be the best fighters, but as you're aware, they've been fighting for a very long time," Epsilon said. "And now that they're not fighting each other, they're more than happy to dedicate all of their time to fighting you."

Dallas's brow furrowed. "So, my dear Chairman, to you and your idiotic mercenaries, I think I speak for everyone here when I say: bring it on, motherfuckers! We are not goin' anywhere until this war is finished and the three of you pay for what you've done to these innocent people."

"From your friends, the incredibly badass and sexually attractive, Red and Blue soldiers of Project Freelancer," Epsilon finished. "Oh, and P.S.? Suck our balls."

Dallas couldn't have said it better himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the fic has finally come to an end. I want to thank everyone who chose to read it/comment on it/etc. I appreciate it more than any of you realize. It's been a wild ride and I'm honestly glad so many people seemed to enjoy my writing this much. I would have never gotten this far without any of you!
> 
> Now, a little surprise for those of you who don't follow my Tumblr: If you all recall, I originally said that I would not continue the fic into season 13. However, because so many people wanted me to, I've changed my mind about that. There will be sequel to this fic and it will take place in season 13. I announced it on Tumblr ages ago, but I will say it here too.
> 
> However, there will be drastic changes to the events that happened. More than I've put in TDOPFLID. I made the choice to write a sequel and I'm going to make it completely self-indulgent and rewrite the parts of season 13 I had my own issues with. Now whether you'll like my changes or not, we'll just have to see. But I hope you do!
> 
> When will the sequel be posted? That I cannot tell you because I don't know. I've still got a lot of plot to work out, not to mention working on TDOPFLID has left me exhausted. But when I have an idea, I will obviously let everyone know on my Tumblr.
> 
> Now, what will I do in the meantime? I do have plans to edit older chapters in TDOPFLID so the writing is better than it was when I first wrote them, so keep an eye out for that. Maybe I'll write some oneshots in my downtime. Who knows?
> 
> In any case, I've had so much fun with this fic. And I can't wait to continue Dallas's adventures in the sequel. See you then <3


End file.
